


LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 


C-Wi# 


Shelf 















« 

















































































































































































# Miss Mischief 

(MAMSELL UNNUTZ.) 

By W. Heimburg. 

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN. 

ILLUSTRATED BY WARREN B. DAVIS. 



NEW YORK: 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 
Publishers. 


THE 
CHOICE 
SERIES 
No. 82. 


A New Novel by Mrs. Harriet Lewis, 


NEVA’S THREE LOVERS. 


BV 

MRS. HARRIET LEWIS, 


Author of “ Beatrix Rohan,” “ Lady Kildare,” “ Her 
Double Life,” etc. 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY F. M. GREGORY. 


12mo. 504 pag-es. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


Mrs. Lewis’s new novel is one to interest every reader, young 
and old. It is a good story. The heroine is an unusual char- 
acter, and the plot and incidents in which she plays such an im- 
portant part excite in the mind of the reader a deep feeling of 
admiration and of profound interest in her fortunes. The novels 
of Mrs. Lewis, beginning with “ Her Double Life,” have all en- 
joyed immense popularity. They furnish delightful reading and 
recreation, and the scenes described in such vivid language linger 
in the memory. Mrs. Lewis was a great traveller, and visited the 
most picturesque and lovely portions of the Old World, and she 
used her experiences to entertain and delight her readers. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


FOR ALMOST HALF A CENTURY 

The Leading Family Weekly: 

THE 

NEW YORK LEDGER. 


♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦ 

FEATURES OF THE “LEDGER”: 

1. Carefully chosen serial stories, beautifully illustrated, with 
synopses of all preceding installments, new readers being thus 
enabled to begin at any issue. 

2. Short stories based on the most interesting current topics. 

3. Valuable historical articles. 

4. A delightful “Woman’s Page,” giving useful information 
regarding household questions; 

5. Short and crisp editorials on matters of the moment. 

6. Interesting popular descriptions of the latest wonders of 
science. 

7. A profusion of beautiful illustrations. 

A Four-Dollar Paper for Only TWO Dollars. 

FREE TO ALL SUBSCRIBERS: 

Our Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter and Fourth-of-July 
Numbers, with beautifully illuminated covers, will be sent without 
extra charge to all our subscribers. 

Subscription Price, $2.00 a Year. 

ADDRESS : 

Publishers NEW YORK LEDGER, 


NEW YORK CITY. 


A New Book by Mrs. Barr. 


THE 

MATE of the “ EASTER BELL ” 

AND OTHER STORIES. 

BY 

AMELIA E. BARR. 

Author of “ The Beads of Tasmerf “ Mrs. Barr's Short Stories ” 
“ The Bow of Orange Ribbon ,” “ Friend Olivia f etc. 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY VICTOR PERARD. 


12mo. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.25. Paper 
Cover, 50 Cents. 


These delightful stories embrace some of Mrs. Barr’s best work. 
“ The Mate of the ‘ Easter Bell ’ ” was first published as an Easter 
story in the New York Ledger and attracted much notice. It has 
all the characteristics of Mrs. Barr’s more ambitious works. It is 
a story of true love, in which patience and heroism are exalted. 
The book contains a variety of other stories, grave and gay, full 
of fine characters, drawn with the vigor and discrimination which 
have raised Mrs. Barr to the front rank of the novelists of our 
time. The book is nicely illustrated, and forms a beautiful com- 
panion volume to the “ Beads of Tasmer.” 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


MISS MISCHIEF. 






























































































*• ■* 

• 


































































































































* 


































_ 














































MISS MISCHIEF 


® l/ y 

V 


31 Jftrod. 


BY 


W. HEIM^URG.^r. 


TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN 


By MARY STUART SMITH. 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY WARREN B. DAVIS. 






AK. 1 •• Vo- 3 


NEW YORK: 


tb \yA 


toUjliv 


ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 


/ 


PUBLISHERS. 




THE CHOICE SERIES I ISSUED SEMI-MONTHLY. SUBSCRIPTION PRICE, TWELVE DOLLARS PER ANNUM. NO. 82, 
APRIL 1, 1898. ENTERED AT THE NEW YORK, N. Y., POST OFFICE AS SECOND CLASS MAIL MATTER. 









Copyright, 1892 and 1893 , 

BY ROBERT BONNER’S SONS. 


{All rights reserved.) 











MISS MISCHIEF. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE LETTER. 

HE feast was just over. One of the 
dull, dark days between Christmas 
and New Year’s was drawing to 
its close ; snow was falling in fine 
flakes; it was bitter cold and a 
biting east wind kept the people 
indoors. The old letter-carrier, 
with his big top-boots, was the only 
person astir upon the narrow side- 
walk ; here and there he stopped 
at a house, becoming the bearer of good and bad 
news, joy and sorrow, without a feature of his face 
altering, satisfied, as he was, that he had no respon- 
sibility in the matter. 

“ There’s one more run for me to take to-night,” 

[ 7 ] 



8 


Miss Mischief, 


murmured he, pausing under a lantern and inspect 
ing the back of a letter that bore this inscription : 


MISS FREDRIKA TRAUTMANN, 

A ndersheitn-on-the- Rhine, 

Germany. 


The old man shook his head and sighed weariedly 
as he turned into a street that looked darker and 
lonelier than the rest. He quickened his pace, and 
found his goal in about ten minutes, by the help of 
a friendly lantern. He rang at a door set in a gar- 
den-wall, from behind which could be heard the 
barking of a dog. Immediately afterward a door- 
bell tinkled, and a feeble light made visible the 
outlines of a respectable house. 

“ Halloa !” called the man from the outside. 
“The postman is here! Can I speak to Miss 
Trautmann ?” 

The door in the wall was opened, and a boy about 
twelve years old, with brown curls and eyes wide 
open from astonishment, looked first at the letter 
and then at the postman. 

“ For aunt?” he asked, breathlessly. 

“ For Miss Trautmann.” 

“Mother!” he shouted, running back into the 
house across a narrow, paved walk. “ Aunt has got 
a letter !” 


The Letter . 


9 


Hereupon he opened the door with the little 
glass window to the right of the dimly lighted hall, 
and a woman appeared on the threshold, lamp in 
hand. She wore a black-lace cap on her head, 
although her hair was but little gray, and her long- 
ish, pale face showed the most evident astonish- 
ment. 

“ My sister? A letter?” 

Now, too, came the servant-girl, running from the 
kitchen, a simple, unsophisticated thing, that seemed 
likewise to be struck dumb with amazement. 

“ Give it here,” said the lady, coming down the 
steps. “ Where is the letter?” 

“ I am sorry, madam, but it must be put into her 
own hands.” 

“ Her — her own hands?” stammered Mrs. Roett- 
ger. 

“ Yes, ma’am, else it cannot be delivered.” 

“ Miss Trautmann is upstairs in her room. Lou- 
ise, take this lamp and show the man up.” 

The boy had to be there, too, though. He 
bounded forward, always taking three steps at a 
time, and clattered along the passage as though 
running for dear life. 

“ Aunt,” rang his voice through the hall — “ Aunt 
Rika, here’s a letter for you !” 

He tore open her chamber-door and once more 
exclaimed : 

“ A letter, Aunt Rika ! You’ve got a letter !” 

“ I ? A letter?” was the response. 

There was the utmost astonishment in the tones of 
this voice as well, but, at the same time, the voice 


IO 


Miss Mischief. 


was so soft and sweet that the old letter-carrier 
involuntarily moderated his harsh speeeh and said 
politely : 

“ Good-evening, Miss. It is something for you to 
sign.” 

Upon this, there arose a form that had, up to this 
time, been seated at the window, but now crossed 
the chamber with light step ; then a match was lit 
and soon a wax-taper burned in a highly polished 
brass candlestick, and a woman’s white hand was 
feeling for writing materials. 

“ Be so good as to put your name here.” 

The handwriting was scrawling, for the fingers 
that held the pen trembled. 

“ Is there anything to pay ?” asked the recipient 
of the letter. 

“No, Miss.” 

“ Is that so ? But wait !” And the trembling 
fingers placed a silver coin in the postman’s right 
hand. 

“Thanks. Good evening. Your most obedient.” 

Heavy steps were heard in the front hall outside ; 
but here within the walls of her own room stood 
Miss Fredrika Trautmann, motionless, not daring to 
open the letter that she held in her hand. The 
cheeks of the boy facing her were flushed with 
impatience and excitement. 

“ Why do you not read it, aunt ?” he blurted out. 

She started. 

“ Go down, Fritz,” said she, stroking his curly 
head. 

“ But tell me who it is from, aunt ?” 


The Letter. 


ii 


“ I do not know. 

“ It is from Italy. Look at the stamp.” 

‘‘Yes, but I do not know the sender. Go, my 
boy ! Go !” she repeated once more, seeing that he 
still tarried. 

The handsome boy in gray jacket ill-humoredly 
left the room. She followed him to the door, 
bolted it, and then sat down at the table near the 
candle. 

She was no longer young, being probably as much 
as forty-five years old, but her face still showed the 
traces of former beauty. Grief had blanched her 
fair locks and dimmed the eyes that were once so 
bright ; there were deep furrows about the small 
mouth and dark circles under the eyes; and yet at 
this instant a gleam of youth flashed across her agi- 
tated countenance. 

“ From Italy !” she whispered. “ Tidings from 
him! From whom else?” 

She opened the envelope and read. She no longer 
saw well, and had to bend low over the paper. 
Suddenly, though, her head sank lower and a hol- 
low groan escaped her. -Now she jumped up so 
hastily that she knocked over the candlestick, that 
fell to the floor, putting out the light. Darkness 
and silence followed. 

Not for a long while did a sob proceed from the 
arm-chair by the window, that was faintly illumined 
by reflection from the snow — a passionate, bitter 
sob, that was at once hushed when the knock of a 
hard finger struck the door from the outside and 
the voice of Mrs. Roettger was heard calling : 


12 


Miss Mischief 


“Are you not coming to supper, Fredrika ? The 
potatoes are getting cold !” 

“ Please excuse me, 1 ” answered Rika Trautmann. 

“Why, what has happened? Speak out! We 
are dying of anxiety !” came again from the outside, 
in a tone of irritation. 

“ Yes, later. I am coming down, Minna.” 

“You are nothing but a block-head ! For aught 
I care — ** 

Mrs. Roettger’s footsteps retreated. 

Fredrika Trautmann had ceased weeping. She 
sat, supporting her head upon her hand, and gazed 
out of the window. The garden lay in ghostly 
shadow ; the two bare walnut-trees by the hedges 
looked back against the gray background ; Miss 
Trautmann could even see now quite distinctly the 
blocks of ice drifting along upon the Rhine. How 
horribly desolate, how dead it all looked! Was it 
true that there had ever been a spring, when the earth 
was. green, full of blossoms and fragrance ; when the 
moonbeams danced upon the waters and nightin- 
gales poured forth song ? An evening when she 
had stood there under that walnut-tree in a white 
dress, watching, with a beating heart for the boat 
that was bringing him to her? It had been a brief 
dream ; the frost had fallen that very spring night, 
so pitilessly and destructively, that not a bud had 
ever sprouted again. 

They had not wanted her to follow the unknown 
artist, who had come there from nobody knows 
where — just to spread his painter’s umbrella wher- 
ever he found a pretty spot. Her father had talked 


i 


The Letter . 


13 


of painters who did not earn their salt, her mother 
of the levity of such handsome young fellows, who 
were fine enough to look at to be sure, in their vel- 
vet coats, but for all that, were utterly good for 
nothing. But her sister, that far less beautiful sis- 
ter, could not pardon the young man for having 
eyes for nobody else but Rika. Especially did she 
bear him a grudge for that evening when they were 
rowing home from the island, when he piloted his 
Rika out of the vessel in which she, Minna Traut- 
mann, was sitting, and when, in spite of the distance, 
it was plain enough to discern the pair sat close 
together on the bench, arm linked in arm. 

She it was who had betrayed their secret to her 
mother, and caused a black day to dawn over the 
Trautmann household, that brought many a tear to 
Rika’s eyes. In the evening she had gone out once 
more to bid him farewell. Her sister had observed 
her motions, and called out to her, from the sofa 
where she was lying : 

“ Stay here, it is not proper — do you understand ?” 

Rika had nevertheless gone on her way with a 
defiant : 

“ Say what you like ! No one can object to a 
leave-taking at least !” 

Minna, however, had kept her counsel. The tone 
of anguish in which her sister had closed her speech, 
it is possible, touched even her heart, and Rika, 
under the old walnut-tree, was allowed to pass, 
undisturbed, the saddest, bitterest hours of her life. 

Even now, at this distance of time, she could see 
his pale face so distinctly. “ Are you sure you did 


H 


Miss Mischief. 


right to yield, my dear! What is to become of a 
poor fellow like me !” Such had been the words 
with which he had received his sentence. Not until 
she had flung her arms around his neck, sobbing 
upon his bosom, and stammering again and again : 
“ I’ll remain true to you ! I’ll never forget you. I 
cannot give you up !” Not until then had he too 
melted, and their tears flowed together. 

“ Will you write to me ?” she asked, at last. 

“ If you wish it, dear Rika.” 

“ It will be my only joy.” 

Then, after a long while : 

“ Frederick, will you be true to me ?” 

“I? Yes! But you ?” 

“ Oh, always, always !” she had sobbed. 

“ I’ll tell you what, Rika, I don’t believe it ; you 
are too sweet and too attractive for that !” 

“ Frederick, so help me God, you are the only man 
1 shall ever care for, and I ’ll wait for you, though I 
should grow old and gray-haired ! And, if you are 
ever in need, only send me word, and though you 
should ask me for the stars in the heavens, I ’d bring 
them to you ; and if I were sure it was for your 
happiness, I would run away with you this evening, 
without remorse or shame — but — ” 

“‘But?’ ” 

“But you are to be fortunate! I will not be a 
clog upon you ; your art requires freedom ; go — but 
think of me, do not forget me !” 

“ Stop crying,” he had said consolingly to her, 
after a while. “ Italy is not out of the world.” 

“Ah, Frederick, much too far away for love! 


The Letter. 


15 


And the girls there — they are enticingly beautiful, I 
have read.” 

And then they had both laughed in the midst of 
their tears and kissed each other again. 

“ Never mind the girls. No one is as beautiful as 
you are !” 

And once more they exchanged their vows: 

“ Farewell ! I ’ll be true to you !” 

“ Come again ; I ’ll wait for you ; good-bye ! God 
keep you !” 

After these long years, she now fancied that she 
could hear his last words, as they came to her 
across the water : 

“ Farewell, my own true love !” 

Alas, and afterward ? How drearily the days 
had dragged along. She could not tell now whether 
she had been awake or dreaming all that time. 
One thing alone had broken the tiresome monotony ; 
this was the arrival of his letters. Like stars glit- 
tering in a midnight sky had they shone in upon 
her life. Then came a suitor, she rejected him ; 
another one, she would not have him. Her father 
was vexed at the repetition of the song: “ I am not 
going to marr}'.” 

“ She cannot forget that flighty painter,” her 
sister had explained. 

And once, when Rika was from home, her mother 
had ransacked her portfolio, found Fred’s address, 
and her father had written him a very plain letter, 
to the effect that he should give up this senseless 
scribbling, inasmuch as the girl was beginning to 


i6 


Miss Mischief. 


be rational, and was taking into consideration a 
suitable match. 

Rika suspected nothing of the sort ; only suffering 
under the silence of her beloved. Finally, one 
Christmas Eve, she fell sick. Below stairs, they 
were just celebrating the betrothal of her sister to 
Mr. Roettger ; in the quiet sick-chamber, her brain 
was busy with thoughts of him ; and one question 
fell again and again upon the ear of the nurse : “ Have 
you forgotten me, darling ? The girls down there 
are prettier, ah, so much prettier!" 

After her recovery, Minna’s wedding took place. 
Rika fainted in church, for she had overtaxed her 
strength. All spoke, however, of how wondrously 
beautiful she had looked, with her fair curls and a 
spray of white flowers in her hair. Captain Erben- 
stein, too, was of that opinion ; but she paid no heed 
to his compliments, and the captain had to console 
himself as best he could. 

And the years glided by. First died her father, 
then her mother ; and the latter, when dying, had 
seized her hand, and said : 

“ You would not be happy, child. How it pains 
me !” 

And the girl had answered, almost cheerfully : 

“ l would, dear mamma ; but never — ’’ 

“ Was allowed to," she wanted to say, but she 
could not let the dying parent carry a reproach 
with her to the grave. 

Now she was alone in the large house that had 
been willed to her. Her sister, to be sure, came to 


The Letter . 


17 


and fro, bringing with her, moreover, a child, a 
splendid, brown-haired little fellow, who knew how 
to work his way into the heart of the lonely woman 
with his merry, boyish laugh. He stayed more 
with his aunt than at home, being happier there ; 
and when death loosed the bonds of an unhappy 
marriage, our little Fritz moved to his aunt’s house 
for good and all, together with his mother, who 
once more took refuge in her childhood’s home. 
She was only too glad to accept her sister’s offer 
and occupy the ground-floor ; for, according to her 
account, she found herself in distressed circum- 
stances. The deceased had made away with most 
of her pretty property, as she contemptuously 
expressed herself. But, in fact, she had not lost an 
iota of her possessions, for she had been extremely 
close and saving. 

Now Rika helped in her support. For that mat- 
ter, she had nothing else to care for, and her sister’s 
boy was the nearest relation she had in the whole 
world. What other use had the old maid for her 
money ? Aunt Rika saw herself exalted to the 
doubtful dignity of a relation who has property to 
bequeath, and got along with Mrs. Roettger’s quar- 
relsome and avaricious disposition as best she could. 
They could not understand each other, nor was this 
needful. Down-stairs, Minna was at full liberty to 
give her tea-parties and to crochet and knit her 
never ending bedspreads, while in the upper story 
a better life was lived. There old memories were 
listened to in solitary twilight hours; there a sketch 
\vas always standing on the easel, while books and 


i8 


Miss Mischief. 


journals were also welcome ; and from the grand 
piano sounded the glorious melodies of Beethoven 
and Schumann. Moreover, there sat the boy, listen- 
ing to tales of the olden time, learning his Latin les- 
son, or playing upon his little violin. 

Thus Rika had gradually settled down into outward 
calm. But if, perchance, her sister ruthlessly touched 
the old wound, the pain was as sharp and severe as 
ever. And she was always longing to know what 
had become of him ; whether he had succumbed to 
misfortune and died, or had returned to Germany 
and was living happily and comfortably, or had stayed 
in Italy, taken a wile and forgotten his old love. 

Never had any intelligence come — never — until 
to-night. Now it had come ; but what news ! 

She suddenly stood up, like a person who has 
formed a quick decision, lighted the candle, and 
brought from the next room a dark, old-fashioned 
mantle and hood, and, carrying the letter in her 
hand, she left the room. She first went down into 
the kitchen, and bade the maid light a lantern and 
prepare to accompany her; then she knocked at her 
sister’s door. 

“ Come in !” 

Minna sat at the center-table, crocheting, while her 
son read. 

“ Dear me ! How you do look !” cried Minna, 
shocked at the sight of her sister’s pale face. 
“ What in the world is the matter with you? Do 
tell me !” 

“ I have news of—” His name would not pass 
her pallid lips. “From Italy !” 


The Letter . 


19 


“ God save us ! He is not coming back? Or are 
you off to him ?’* 

Aunt Rika stood, drawn up to her full height, but 
answered not a word. 

“Why, does he want you still? Has he at last 
gotten so far ahead that he can support a wife ?” 

“ He is dead !” answered Rika. 

Minna was abashed for a moment, in the presence 
of her sister’s suppressed agony. She wanted to say 
something, but utterance failed her and she could 
only follow, with a vacant stare, the retreating form 
that now passed out of the door. Directly after- 
ward the bell below rang, and Aunt Rika had left 
the house. 

“ Where can aunt be going?” queried her son. 

“ How do I know ? Maybe she wants to order a 
wreath ; however, she cannot send that so far. 
Heaven knows what project she has afoot*! I am 
only glad that a final stop has been put to one thing.” 

“ Was that the man Aunt Rika was engaged to ?” 

“ Yes, something of the sort. But stick to your 
books; she ’ll be back directly. She has run out 
though it is raining cats and dogs. When her pas- 
sion has worn itself out, she will come home again.” 

Fritz obediently pored over his book, but for all 
that he could not learn. He sincerely loved his 
aunt ; her company made up to him for the prosaic 
atmosphere with which his mother surrounded him, 
and that she had suffering to endure made him rest- 
less and mournful. 

“ If I only knew where she was,” he ventured to 
remark, by and by. 


20 


Miss Mischief. 


“ Go on with your studies !” 

Meanwhile Miss Rika Trautmann, breasting tem- 
pest and driving snow, had crossed through a couple 
of dismal streets, and stepped up to a house with 
lofty gable ends, behind the window-shutters of 
whose lower story glimmered a light. 

“Is your master at home?” 

“ Yes, indeed !” answered an old man, dressed in 
a sort of livery. “ He is just smoking his pipe, and 
the madam is arranging the chess-board.” 

“ Ask if I may interrupt them for a moment !” 

“ Why" so, Miss Rika? You are always wel- 
come.” And without going to the room-door, 
he bawled out in a veritable voice of thunder : 

“ Miss Trautmann is here !” 

Then he opened a door, disclosing to view a 
laughing and still quite comely lady. 

“ Always at home to you, dear Rika.” 

And drawing her guest over the threshold, she 
exclaimed : 

“ There, now, off with your mantle and hood ! 
Now take a glass of wine? Husband, I’ll fetch 
a bottle of the Eberbacher; and now, entertain 
each other well, meanwhile. 1 see by the look in 
your eyes that you have secrets. Well, I’m not 
jealous, although 1 might have good reason in this 
case,” she called back. 

“Chatterbox!” smilingly said a tall, elderly gen- 
tleman, who, one could see at a first glance, was a 
physician. And he had caught hold of his guest’s 
hand and forced Rika to take a seat on the old- 
fashioned sofa. 


The Letter. 


21 


“ Well, how can I serve you? Is there anything 
amiss with Mrs. Roettger. You do look excessively 
pale, Miss Rika. You must not remain indoors so 
much, but go out walking more — ” 

“ I did not come on the score of health, doctor. 
I wanted your advice in another matter ; in short, I 
want to ask a favor of your brother, through your 
intervention. He is still in Florence, is he not ?” 

“ Yes — at least he was there four weeks ago.” 

“ I have a great favor to ask of him.” 

“ That he will gladly grant, I am sure.” 

“ I shall see to his losing nothing pecuniarily, of 
course. I only ask of him to go to Rome, call upon 
a lady there, and take charge of a youth he will find 
there, whom 1 wish him then to conduct over the 
Alps to Basle, where I shall be waiting to receive 
him.” 

“ Humph ! That sounds mysterious.” 

“ There is no mystery about it,” said she, faintly 
smiling. “ This boy is the son of an old friend of 
mine who has recently died. In a letter that he 
wrote two days before his death, and which a 
colleague of his has transmitted to me, fie begs of 
me to adopt fiis boy and have him brought to 
Germany.” 

u What is the child’s name ?” 

She pressed her hand to her throat as though she 
were choking. 

“ Frederick Adami,” she gasped. 

“ Ah, yes. Forgive me, Rika. I recognize the 
name — I — ” 

“ I suffered on account of it myself, once upon a 


22 


Miss Mischief, 


time,” he would have said, but hushed and silently 
considered the pure, noble countenance of the 
woman whom he had once so ardently loved and by 
whom he had been rejected, for the sake of this 
foreigner. 

“ You are willing to adopt his child, then?” 

“ Yes, dear doctor.” 

“ How old is he?” 

“ Thirteen years ; about as old as Fritz Roett- 
ger.” 

“Do you realize the burden that you are impos- 
ing upon yourself?” 

“ Perfectly.” 

“ Then 1 will write to Oscar. From what I know 
of him, he will be delighted to take a trip to Rome. 
He may not or cannot reject your offer to defray 
his expenses, although, Heaven knows, money is the 
least consideration with him, in spite of his six-and- 
thirty years.” 

“And I will relieve him of the boy at Basle or 
Zurich, as he may prefer.” 

“ I think, Rika, if he gets so far on the way as 
that, he will love to take a peep at the old home- 
stead, and 1 ’ll make a subscription to that end, 
myself.” 

“ That would be still nicer. You know, doctor, I 
have never left the old nest, in all my life. But 
here is the address : ‘ Signora Adami, Piazza de 
Cappucini.’ ” 

“ Thanks,” said the old gentleman, taking down 
the name. 

The doctor’s wife now came in, bearing a bottle 


The Letter . 


23 


and wine-glasses, just as Rika was preparing to take 
her leave. 

“ No ! No !” cried she. “ You must take a glass 
of wine with us first. Have I gone down into the 
cellar for nothing ?” 

And she pressed a glass upon the guest, who was 
in such haste to depart. 

“ Well, then, Miss Rika, let us drink to the full 
success of your benevolent scheme !” said Doctor 
Kortum. 

“ My ! What is on foot now ?” exclaimed the trim 
little woman with flashing black eyes. 

“She wants to adopt a child.” 

Mrs. Kortum threw up her hands and clasped 
them above her head. 

“ You don’t mean it !” she cried. “You jest! It 
is not true !” 

“ Yes, but it is, though, wife. Do not stare so.” 

“ But the responsibility ! I would much rather 
take a poodle to pet or a pair of canaries.” 

“ Hush, wife ! She is going to do a good work. 
But — what will Minna say?” 

“ 1 am just going to give her the news,” replied 
Rika, somewhat dejectedly. 

“ What will Minna say !” exclaimed the doctor’s 
wife. “ She will look just like our cat Peter when 1 
have put the pan of milk out of his reach. Bless 
me, 1 should never pluck up the courage to break 
the news to her.” 

“ It is hard, too,” said the pale woman, softly, her 
eyes assuming a determined look. “ Good-by. She 
is waiting for me.” 


24 


Miss Mischief. 


Within the space of fifteen minutes, she was again 
at home, and entered the sitting-room. Minna was 
munching at a baked apple, while Fritz was listlessly 
turning over the leaves of his postage-stamp album. 

“ Ah, I’m so glad you have come, aunt!” he cried. 
“ We can go upstairs now and finish reading that 
chapter in the ‘ Leather-Stocking Tales.’ ” 

She suddenly laid her hand upon his head. 

“Fritz, see here. You are to have a playmate 
in the house. I am going to have a visit— a long 
visit — from a lad of your own age. Are you 
glad ?” 

“ Very !” shouted the youth. “ You are too good, 
aunt !” 

“ What folly is that ?” asked Minna. 

“ Adami’s son is coming to my house,” declared 
Rika, with apparent composure, but her bosom rose 
and fell tumultuously. 

“ Upon a visit ?” 

“ No. Most likely for good and all, Minna.” 

“ That is to say — that is to say — that you — ” 

“ That I am to provide for him.” 

“ That you are crazy, you mean !” cried Minna 
And as her sister evaded all further discussion by 
leaving the room with a quiet good-night,” she 
broke out into a fit of nervous laughter. 

“ So !” cried she, striking on the table with the 
palm of her hand— “ So ! It is all done for now. 
She has washed her hands of you, you poor fellow !’’ 

“ But — mother,” began the boy, seeking to soothe 
her. But she pushed him back and took refuge in 
her own chamber, where she groaned as though the 


The Letter. 


25 


heaviest calamity had befallen her; while the youth, 
on the other hand, was indulging in the rosiest pic- 
tures of the future, when he should have a comrade 
at his side. 

And Aunt Rika sat above stairs, reading over 
again a long letter, the shaky characters of the 
script betraying the hand of a very ill person : 

“ The thought that you will grant my request 
makes it easier for me to die. I know that I have 
no right to ask anything at your hands; but I also 
know that you have not forgotten me. Too late I 
learned that ) 7 our father had written falsely, when 
he informed me that you were happy by the side of 
some one else. 

“We have been grievously sinned against, we 
two, poor dear ! And yet we are not the only ones 
in the world whose lot it has been to learn what it 
means to renounce the thing dearest to them on 
earth. 1 have a son, Fredrika ; I love him more than 
I can tell. While I live he is safe ; but — afterward ? 
His mother — I dare not put any accusation in 
writing. 

“You take the child, please, and give him some 
love, some sunshine. God bless you ! He is to rever- 
ence you as if he were your own child. Give him 
goodness and patience — give him love! 

“ Long years ago, when I got the above-mentioned 
letter from your father, it was with me, as a Ger- 
man song expresses it : ‘It seemed to me as though 
the sun had vanished from the noonday sky/ I 
could not pretend to tell now the experience of that 


26 


Miss Mischief. 


wretched time. My power to will and to do was 
gone ; I was completely paralyzed. 

“ It was the daughter of my landlady, who saved 
me from the worst, only that I might live to go 
through with what was yet worse. I no longer 
deserved anything. I hardly ever came home from 
the dram-shop; I ruined myself in the estimation of 
all my acquaintances, who urged me to reform. I 
was on the brink of a precipice. The landlady, my 
future mother-in-law, declared openly to me one day, 
that she would no longer suffer me to remain in her 
house, if I did not forthwith pay the bill she had 
against me for board. I laughed and showed her 
my empty pockets. Thereupon, in the noisy man- 
ner of her race, she began to threaten me with the 
police — and there stood her daughter at the door, 
pale and mute. When the old woman finally left 
the room, she dragged the girl out with her, and 
outside began a quarrel between the two women, 
while I was gathering together a few little things 
that had not been swallowed up at the pawn- 
broker’s. 

“ The deep, full voice of the girl finally remained 
victorious ; it grew still in the small house. 

“ Ah, Fredrika, it is hard for me to write all this 
to you, but I think you have a right to know how I 
came by my wife. It was on the evening of that 
same day ; I had just taken in hand the last valuable 
article in my possession, which I was about to give 
to the respectable Donna Marchi, as the sole return 
I could make her for my board, and then quit the 


The I.etter . 


27 


place, never to see it again. There came a gentle 
knock at the door and Julia glided in. 

‘‘‘Signor Federigo,’ she whispered, ‘you need 
not go away. Keep your studio, mother will let 
you, and you shall never hear an angry word from 
her again/ 

“ ‘ How comes that?’ asked 1 carelessly. It really 
was a matter of indifference to me whether I went 
or stayed. 

“ ‘ I have — ’ She stopped and looked at me 
through the twilight, with her dark eyes that were 
glistening with tears. She was a pretty little 
creature, without a trace of color upon her sallow 
cheeks. I had hardly taken any notice of her, when 
she sat at her loom weaving ribbons out of silk 
threads, as she had been taught to do, at the house 
of an aunt at Sorrento. 

“ ‘ What have you done, Julia?’ 

“ ‘ I have paid mother,’ she ejaculated with great 
effort. ‘ I secretly saved it from my earnings ; 
but she is not to know it, signor, else she would 
strike me dead.’ 

“‘I am not going to accept it, Julia,’ I said, 
curtly. ‘ You are a kind-hearted girl, but — that is 
impossible. Go and call your mother.’ 

“ Then the girl fell at my feet and began to weep 
bitterly and passionately, gasping forth, in detached 
sentences, a few significant words. I was not to go ; 
I was not to forsake her ; she did not want to live 
without me, for she loved me. She had to confess 
it, for it was even so, and she would smother if she 
had to keep it any longer to herself. And if I were 


28 


Miss Mischief. 


to go away, she would run after me, and not a sound 
would she make, though I should spurn her and 
trample upon her. Then I lifted her up and drew 
her to my heart, thinking that you had given me up 
and that this poor child of the people stood high 
above the one who had broken with me the much- 
vaunted faith of a German woman. So, a few days 
afterward, she became my wife, and sat at her loom 
just the same as she had done before ; while my 
mother-in-law washed for distinguished people, and 
I, too, was obliged to be industrious, for times were 
hard, and the little woman did want of a Sunday 
and on holidays to show herself, on my arm, at the 
theatre or in some cafe. 

“ But wretchedness, moral wretchedness, was not 
exorcised. In the beginning, after the birth of my 
boy, a gleam of sunshine came once more ; but then 
in the beginning, with the child in my arms, I bat- 
tled bravely against the influence of ignorance and 
narrowness of mind, and from the first dawning of 
his intelligence, I kept the boy in my studio, under 
my own eyes. There I worked until sickness 
caused the brush and palette to fall from my hands, 
and overpowering weakness took from me the 
ability any longer to hinder my darling from making 
his escape from the dull sick-room, and playing 
about the streets, in company that was not fit for 
him. 

“ My wife worked with redoubled diligence ; at 
her side stood the cradle holding a second child. 
She was much in my studio, that last year, for my 
torture— God help me — for every word she spoke 


The Letter . 


29 


was a dagger-thrust, an accusation against the mis- 
erable man on whom she had set her heart. 

“ And then I learned that you had remained true 
to me ! That was the hardest thing, and yet so 
beautiful. Accept my thanks, Fredrika ! Once 
more let me implore you to give the child your 
noble disposition, your lofty way of thinking, your 
fidelity. Farewell, and pardon me ! I have never for- 
gotten you.” 

Fredrika Trautmann sat still for a long while 
after she had finished reading, holding the letter in/ 
her hand. The candle burned down into the 
socket and went out ; she did not observe it. A 
bitterness such as she had never experienced before 
gnawed at her heart. 

“ Oh, you !” she whispered, stretching out her 
hand toward the portrait of her parents. “ Had 
you the right to make us two so wretched?” 

And the more she reflected upon it, the greater 
became her longing to see the child of the man who 
had been so dear to her. All — all that he had asked 
of her for his son, she was going to give him, and 
more, yes, much more ! As one drinks who is 
perishing from thirst, so she feasted upon the 
thoughts of the moment when she should extend her 
arms to take that child to her heart. 

Would that the hour were already here! 



CHAPTER II. 

“ NOT ONE, BUT TWO, CHILDREN COMING.’' 

And the day grew near. Time had been tedious, 
but it had passed away somehow. Preparations for 
it had given the prospective mother by. adoption 
much secret pleasure, in spite of her sister’s taunts 
and the troubled looks of her nephew, who had been 
gradually convinced by his mother that gross injus- 
tice was being done him by the coming of that 
“ foreign youngster.” But she went on her way, 
not heeding obstructions. Two days beforehand, 
everything was in perfect order ; at least, in the 
upper story of the old house, that wore its peaked 
gable-roof like a disproportionately tall headgear, 
and whose numberless dormer windows resembled 
sleepy eyes. Now the rusty old weather-cock 
creaked in the west winds that blustered across the 
Rhine; while in the streets of the humble little 
town the dear children were trotting along, clad in 
all manner of cheap finery; for it was Rose Monday, 
and the little people, at least, would dress up in their 
holiday array, like the grown ones down yonder in 
hallowed Cologne and up in golden Mayence. 

Fritz Roettger, too, bounded upstairs into Aunt 
[30] 


u Mot one , but two, children coming.' 


3 * 


Rika’s room, although his mother had warned him 
that his aunt would no longer have any eyes for him. 

His mother proved to be right, too. Aunt Rika 
sat on the sofa, pale and silent, while in front of her 
stood the doctor, with a letter in his hand, seeming 
partly to share her abstraction, for he scratched 
behind his ear as if deliberating. Fritz, moreover, 
clearly heard through his black horsehair peruke 
how he said : 

“ Yes, this is by no means the same thing, my 
dear Rika, although, to be sure, it is the next thing 
to it. Here you have it in writing. There is no 
help for it at present, but later — we can take advice. 
Forced — 

“ What are you standing here gaping for, boy?” 
said he, in harsh tones to the lad, who was listening 
with open mouth. “ Run down ; I hear the music 
already.” 

And when the disconcerted fellow had vanished, 
the doctor continued : 

“ You cannot be forced to adopt the second child, 
I am sure that Adami must have relations some- 
where around in Germany, whose bounden duty it 
is to provide for these chidren.” 

“ He has none at all, doctor.” 

“ Well, we shall see about that. My brother, 
though, was in a most awkward predicament ; only 
put it to yourself — ‘ what does he say?’ ” 

And he began to read : 

“ ‘ I cannot tell you how it looked there in those 
poor lodgings near the Church of the Capucines. 


32 


Miss Mischief. 


The bare, dusty studio, in the center of which stood 
the bier of the young wife, who, as they told me, had 
caught the contagion through her devoted atten- 
tions to her consumptive husband, and fallen a 
victim herself to the same dread malady in an 
incredibly short space of time. There was, besides, 
an old half-witted person, the mother of the deceased, 
who was raising a terrible hue and cry over the 
burden still left upon her in the care of a child — an 
abominably bad child. She would be glad to keep 
the oldest, if 1 would only take that one away with 
me, and she pointed to a corner, where cowered a 
little girl, a miserable, scrawny little thing, with 
large, lack-luster eyes, whom neither scolding nor 
blows seemed to hurt any longer, most likely 
because she had been used to them every day of her 
life. 

I put an end to the repulsive scene by declar- 
ing that I would take both children with me. It 
was an officious, inconsiderate thing to do, I admit ; 
but my heart bled at the sight of the wretched little 
creature, and I do not believe that noble-mindedness 
and generosity have so far deserted the world that 
such a poor little thing should be left to perish. 
Were I any other than I am, dear brother, I would 
keep it myself ; but as it is — ’ ” 

“ I shall keep it !” said Rika, her voice interrupt- 
ing the reader. “ Gratification at this step,” she 
added, “ will come in time. So far it is only done 
under the spur of necessity.” 

And she pressed her old friend’s hand, rang for 






“ Not one , but two, children coming. 


33 


her maid and began a new commotion in the house, 
over the bed-chamber of her sister, who was just 
setting upon her head her black cap trimmed with 
woolen lace. Black-woolen lace she esteemed the 
greatest of economies, for it cost no washing and 
was durable. 

“ Louisa,” she called into the room where the girl 
was scraping the stove, what is going on upstairs 
there ?” 

And Louisa went off to find out, and came back 
with a terror-stricken face. 

“ Another surprise, madam ! Miss Rika is putting 
up a second bed — a little one. She has had it 
brought down from the garret and put up next her 
own chamber ; and Katie says that not one but two 
children are coming.” 

“ Mercy upon us !” cried the enraged woman. 
4 What is she thinking about? Our house is no 
infant asylum !” 

And she ran up the broad oaken staircase at the 
top of her speed and entered the open door of a 
small, alcove-like room with a single window, that 
her deceased father, the advocate, had used as a 
depository for law documents. There now stood a 
small trundle-bed, in which the two sisters had once 
dreamed their child-dreams and which Rika had 
just arranged into a comfortable resting-place for a 
little head. 

“ Well, I would not have believed it; but I cannot 
doubt the evidence of my own eyes,” said Minna 
disconsolately. 

“ I can hardly believe it myself,” answered her 


’34 


Miss Mischief. 


sister, picking up an old chintz curtain that lay on 
the table and holding it up against the window. 

“ Well, you seem, at least, to want to be more 
economical in your arrangements for the comfort of 
this new accession,” came from Minna’s trembling 
lips: “or, is this, too, to be newly carpeted and 
scrubbed, and expensive toys bought, as for the 
young prince ?” 

And she pointed with her hand to the door oppo- 
site, over which shone in gilt letters, framed in ever- 
green boughs, the simple words : 


God Bless Your Coming. 


Rika made no reply, but began to tack the dotted 
red calico to a curtain-pole. What was she to say ? 
Any words might have unchained the tempest that 
had been long brewing in the air of this house, and 
she did want peace, peace for the sake of the 
children. 

“ If father and mother knew, they would turnover 
in their graves, not once, but twice,” Minna con- 
tinued. 

So saying, she departed, to array herself in her 
black-silk dress, for she was invited to take coffee 
with Counselor Gerbach’s wife, who had invited a 
large company of neighbors to make merry with her 
over punch and cake. There she sat, telling with 
uplifted eyes, what a real cross it was to have to do 


“ Not one , but two , children coming : 


35 


with an old maid. Such incomprehensible whims 
as that Rika has, but she — she washes her hands in 
innocency ! “ Let things go topsy-turvy as they 

will. Never mind, you’ll see, dear people ; then 
think of me !” 



CHAPTER III. 

RIKA’S CHARGES. 

It is Ash Wednesday, and all having been up 
much later than usual, everything is mournful and 
quiet; the old people have headache, the children 
indigestion ; and, added to these troubles, an 
abominable east wind is blowing, that seeks its 
victims even through the crevices of the windows. 

Minna had undertaken a large wash. What had 
she to do with the rejoicings overhead ? The steam 
from the clothes-boiler penetrated into the great 
hall hung with portraits darkened by age, and 
mingled with the odor of freshly baked cake, that 
came down from Aunt Rika’s newly furnished 
kitchen For Minna had announced that hence- 
forth it would be better for each family to carry on 
its own housekeeping. 

Minna prided herself on speaking out her mind 
“ honestly.’’ That this usually praiseworthy prin- 
ciple here found application in a way that must 
work mischief, she did not appreciate. With her, 
bluntness was synonymous with truth. 

“ I cannot dissemble,” was her motto. “ Whoever 
[36] 


37 


Rika's Charges . 


does not like me as I am, let him keep away from 
me. Such a finical, reckless way of doing as that 
Rika has is hateful to me. It is neither flesh nor 
fowl, neither cold nor hot, and there’s an end on ’t !” 

“ You just go into the sitting-room, you booby, 
you, and do not show the tip end of your nose when 
those strange children come,” was her harsh address 
to her son. 

Fritz drew up his face, for he had already been 
made to decline his aunt’s invitation to lunch, but 
there was no bending of the will o*f his mother. He 
contented himself, therefore, with taking a post of 
observation at the window, and kept the wall-gate 
as steadfastly in view as if he were in a shooting 
stand. 

Overhead somebody else was sitting at the win- 
dow and watching. 

It was a moderate-sized, comfortable apartment 
with wainscoted walls and dark wood-work. In the 
middle of the room, under a hanging-lamp, stood a 
massive old oak table; an empty set of book-shelves 
hung on the wall by the porcelain stove, around 
which ran a wooden bench; it was yet to be filled. 
A few maps, a couple of pictures illustrating Roman 
history, a writing-desk and a bed completed the 
furniture. One would have thought Christmas had 
come, to look at the games, soldiers and picture- 
books on the table, all wreathed in evergreen. This 
was the room to be occupied by little Frederick 
Adami, and the merest glance showed that hope 
and love had presided over its arrangement. 

Rika’s heart almost ceased to beat when the bell 


38 


Miss Mischief. 


below was pulled. Old Dora, who had been a 
servant in the house at the time when Rika had 
been parted from him to whom she as secretly 
engaged, and who, now, long since a widow, had 
undertaken, at Miss Trautmann’s request, the post 
of housekeeper, ran, as fast as her old legs would 
carry her, down-stairs to the front door, while her 
mistress stood at the top of the steps like a person 
paralyzed, seeing only one thing, viz., a slender, 
fair-haired boy, who was crossing the yard, holding 
on to the doctor’s hand. 

Rika’s feet tottered. Like a decrepit old woman, 
she dragged herself to the room-door and out into 
the hall, and there she leaned against the balustrade 
with failing breath. 

“ My boy !” she whispered, in violent agitation. 
“My poor, precious boy! Welcome!” And she 
drew the boy’s supple form close to her and stared 
him in the face and pressed her lips upon his brow : 
and the clear drops from her eyes ran down upon 
his thick, curly hair, just such hair as his father used 
to have. “ Are you named Frederick, like your 
father? And were you glad to come to me? I 
shall love you dearly, Frederick. Do you understand 
me ? You talk German, do you not ?” 

In some embarrassment, he had extricated himself 
from the strange lady’s arms. 

“ Yes,” he said, looking beyond her ; “ but Italian 
is prettier.” 

The doctor laughed awkwardly. 

“ Oscar,” he called back, “ are you not coming?” 

“ Yes, yes !” replied a voice. “ But here sits this 


Rika's Charges . 


39 


little mischief on the stairs, and not a step farther 
will she move.” 

“ There, now, come on, you obstinate little 
thing,” he continued, “ else I ’ll carry you !” 

Now was heard the shriek of a child, and imme- 
diately afterward, at the turn of the stairs, appeared 
a man with a big, crushed hat, bearing in his arms a 
queer little mortal. She lay there like a babe in 
long clothes, with her head dangling down behind, 
her eyes half shut, a defiant expression about her 
mouth, and her fist tightly clenched. 

“ Tell me precisely where this young lady’s pre- 
sentation is to take place ?” sportively asked the 
sculptor, Oscar Kortum, the doctor’s brother. “ It 
is best that I should set her down on the very spot, 
else the shy bird will begin again to beat with her 
wings. 

Rika opened the door to the boy’s room, and 
there the artist set down upon two tiny little 
feet a diminutive creature quite droll to look npon. 
From a striped *hawl of motley hues, tied around 
her waist, emerged a pale little face, framed in a 
wealth of dark, curly hair. Motionless stood the 
tiny child, presenting a pathetic spectacle. The 
only things about her that stirred were great golden 
hoops in her pretty little ears. 

“ Go to the lady and give her a kiss,” said the 
sculptor, in Italian. 

But the two little brown hands kept tightly 
clasped, her mouth was shut tight, and from beneath 
long lashes two big black eyes shyly scanned the 


40 


Miss Mischief. 


lady, who still held her brother embraced with one 
arm. 

“ Come to me, little one,” was Rika’s summons. 
But her voice sounded differently from when she 
had addressed her brother. “ Come, my child ! 
What is your name ?” 

“ Julia,” answered the boy in her stead. “Julia, 
after mamma.” 

“ Come here, Julia !” 

Rika Trautmann spoke impatiently, her face sud- 
denly becoming suffused with red. And when the 
child stubbornly held back, she dragged her toward 
herself, and kneeling down in front of her, she held 
her by both shoulders and looked into her face, that 
appeared thin and pale, overshadowed as it was by 
a mass of disheveled locks. 

“ Not a trace of him ! Strange ! Strange !” spoke 
her heart. “ This is her child — the child of the one 
who enjoyed the happiness that was mine by 
rights !” 

Not a word of love had she for the trembling 
little creature. Almost rudely she let her go, and 
strightened herself up. 

“ Dora,” said she to the old servant-woman, “ take 
off her wraps and take her across to her own little 
room.” 

And again she turned to the youth, who was 
standing by the table and with glistening eyes 
regarding the treasures with which it was covered. 

“ They are all yours, Frederick. Examine them, 
and then we shall have our supper.” 

And she stepped to the door. 


Rika's Charges . 


4i 


“ I must ask you, gentlemen," she said, “ to walk 
into my sitting-room until we go to supper. And 
let me thank you, Mr. Oscar Kortum, for the great 
favor that you have done me." 

The brothers had quickly exchanged a silent 
glance. The younger sighed. 

“ I am sorry for the little one," he murmured. 

“ Wait a while," said the elder man consolingly. 

Minna, meanwhile, was bustling about in the 
kitchen down-stairs. Inasmuch as her maid was help- 
ing in the wash, she was preparing dinner herself. 
The aroma of roast meat from the upper story, where 
the doctor and that “ flighty " sculptor from Florence 
were dining, did not improve her temper. When, 
therefore, Fritz looked into the kitchen and asked 
if he really might not take dinner upstairs — Aunt 
Rika once more had invited him — she quite boiled 
over. 

“ Run, then, in the devil’s name !" she bawled out, 
dashing a cover on the soup-pot with such violence 
that most discordant sounds were the result. 

Then she ran into the laundry, and not a single 
piece was washed to please her. Then ensued sharp 
fault-finding and bitter reproaches, until, finally, she 
seated herself, with her kitchen apron on, in the 
arm-chair at the window of the sitting-room and 
mentally took her sister to task for her extravagance 
and lack of business capacity. 

“ And only to think of it — two — two!" she mur- 
mured. “ That second one is just a little bit too 
much ! It is a sin and a shame — enough to make 
one choke from rage !" 


42 


Miss Mischief 


And just at this instant, there came from over- 
head the sound of a child’s passionate screams, the 
tones denoting a violent temper, Minna thought ; 
then Rika’s voice, raised high as never before in her 
life ; and now the listeners likewise distinguished 
Dora’s treble pipe. 

“ Pretty carryings-on, to be sure !” said Minna to 
herself. “Dear me! When I remember the fuss 
Rika used to make if my boy pretended to 
whimper !” 

Then it grew suddenly still ; but into the room 
where her mistress sat came Louise, with rolled-up 
sleeves and wet apron. 

“ Did you hear, madam ?” asked she, eagerly. 

“ Of course 1 did. Pm not deaf.” 

“ Ah ! But I dread what’s to come ! How will 
one ever get used to it? That little one, the girl, 
promises to be such a bad thing. Katie says she 
is eaten up with obstinacy and actually turned 
purple with rage.” 

“ Your concern is about your washing.” 

“ I’m going right away, ma’am ; but I never did 
hear of such a thing as a child flying into a passion 
when a kindness is done it. Pity about the new 
doll ! Katie has just thrown its pieces on the trash- 
heap.” 

Minna looked out of the window and Louise 
retired ; not, however, until she had seen how the 
lady folded her hands in her lap and said : 

“ Oh, what a burden ! What a burden ! What a 
good-for-nothing thing !” 

Peace fled from Rika’s cosy sleeping-room that 


Rika's Charges . 


43 


evening. Up to midnight she was pacing to and 
fro, every nerve tingling. She took the wax-taper 
and tip-toed into the boy’s room. He was not 
asleep, but lying with wide-open eyes considering 
his new surroundings. 

“ Go to sleep, my boy,” she whispered, bending 
over him and stroking back his curls, that lay so 
boldly on the white, beautifully formed brow, just 
as his father’s used to do. 

“ Yes, aunt.” 

“ Do you like it here with me ?” questioned she, 
tenderly. 

“ Oh, yes ! Fritz and 1 want to buy a little dog 
in the morning. He says you will let us if I want it.” 

She was silent. 

“ You will let us, will you not ?” asked he, throw- 
ing both his arms around her neck, and hugging her. 

A “ no ” was upon the tip of her tongue, for she 
had refused her nephew the same request just a 
short while before, but the “ no ” was changed into 
a “ yes ” in response to the boy’s affectionate appeal. 
She was conscious of her weakness and ashamed of 
herself. 

“ But go to steep now.” 

“ 1 will, aunt.” 

And then she went also to the little girl’s resting- 
place. The child lay in her dainty little bed, fast 
asleep, but her mouth was unpleasantly drawn, and 
her fist clinched. Old Dora, too, slept profoundly on 
her heaped-up pillows. Fredrika put the candle upon 
a stand and stood in front of this child with her arms 
hanging down limp and with bowed head. What an 


44 


Miss Mischief. 


unfortunate character lurked in that frail little thing ! 
Her heart still vibrated at the recollection of the 
day’s scene. With glee had the boy displayed his 
treasures to his sister, and the girl had looked at 
them, with wide-open greedy eyes, but without stir- 
ring. And then Rika had held out to her a doll, a 
very ugly common doll, that Katie had bought for a 
few pennies, at the nearest shop and fetched it in all 
haste, because they had not thought of any play- 
things to please a girl. But the little one would not 
have it. As she had done upon her first arrival, she 
stuck her hands behind her back, and looked con- 
temptuously away from the caricature to the Punch- 
and-Judy show, with which the boy was occupying 
himself. Then Rika took the doll and forcibly 
pressed it into the arms of the defiant little miss. 
And now came to pass something wholly unlooked 
for. The child’s hands seized the gaudily dressed 
doll, and dashed it on the floor with such force that 
the china head broke into a thousand bits. A fiery 
glance was hurled at the shocked giver, and the 
tiny personage turned her back upon her. But a 
horrible feeling, such as she had never felt before, 
welled up in Rika’s heart. She seized hold of the 
child, and led her roughly into the little room, 
where she was to sleep, and there — how did it 
happen that she could be so angry? — there she 
slapped the brown, bad little hands, until a loud 
screaming began, a tearless, dreadful screaming, 
that made her ears tingle. Dora at last succeeded 
in quieting the little culprit. 

She had been too hard, Rika candidly admitted to 


Rikas Charges . 


45 


herself ; nevertheless, she was not equal to extend- 
ing her hand, to touch caressingly that wizened face. 
Suddenly, though, she fell on her kness by the bed, 
and, weeping, clung to its posts. 

“ Oh, Lord !” she sobbed. “ What a burden — 
what a heavy burden thou hast imposed upon me ! 
Help me ! My heart turns away from this child ! 
I no longer recognize myself !” 

And she thus lamented till the old woman awoke. 

“Yes, yes, this little one is a burden — a heavy 
burden — miss. But, you know, nothing helps but 
goodness and patience.” 

“And just at this minute, that small but heavy 
burden talked in her dreams : 

“ Mama mia ! Mia carissima mama /”* 

It sounded as sweet and soft as when a little bird 
twitters in its sleep. 

Rika gazed upon the child’s face. She smiled. 
How enchanting she looked ! 

Ah, if she had smiled that way ! 

And again the tears gushed from her eyes, and 
she went quickly out, for she could no longer see 
the child now. 


* “ My mamma ! My dearest mamma !' 



CHAPTER IV. 

THE TWO FAMILIES. 

A heav) T burden, so all thought, this light-as-a- 
feather, strange little girl, who had fallen so unex- 
pectedly and unwished-for into this house, and to 
none heavier than to her who had assumed the part 
of mother. The child fled before the approach of 
Rika’s tall form into some corner, like those pretty 
lizards that sun themselves on a heap of ruins in her 
native Rome. Nothing brought her out of her 
stolidity — neither goodness nor severity. Minna 
was horrified at the sight of such a gypsy-like crea- 
ture, and pictured her to her female friends in such 
colors that they were amazed to see quite a civil- 
ized-looking little being tripping along to school, 
holding old Dora’s hand. 

Wonderfully well, though, did the little one stand 
in her classes ; so that it was almost hard to per- 
suade her to go home, although in school, for the 
most part, she sat motionless in her seat, with her 
eyes riveted on her teacher and taking no notice of 
her schoolmates. 

Dora roomed with her in the little chamber, 
where there was only space for the two couches, a 
[46] 


The Two Families . 


47 


work-table and the child’s corner. The old woman 
alone, of all the household, knew how to get along 
with “ Jule.” To be sure, she was apt to be dull of 
hearing when called Jule, standing still as a mouse 
when she was addressed by that name. But if the 
old woman bethought herself and called “Julia,” 
she would obey immediately. 

Julia never seemed to be so happy as in this cor- 
ner; and when, in the next room — her aunt’s dress- 
ing-room — the notes of a violin were heard, a smile 
played over her grave little face, and she would 
clasp her hands together while she listened, motion- 
less, at the door. 

“ You like Fritz, do you ?” asked Dora, seeing the 
girl’s pretty little nose flattened against the window- 
pane, while, she followed, with her eyes, the plays 
of the boys in the garden. But she got no 
answer. 

“You love your brother, though ?” ^ asked old 
Dora. 

“ Not so very much,” answered the child. 

“ Well, you are candid, to say the least, almost as 
much so as Mrs. Minna Roettger, Heaven defend 
us!” And Dora was reminded that that lady never 
called the child anything but “ Miss Mischief.” 

At last the servants, too, caught up this name, as 
well as the two boys, who had become great friends. 
Minna Roettger lent her countenance to this friend- 
ship, because Rika, in spite of her blind partiality 
for the fair-haired Frederick, was so just toward her 
nephew that she admitted him to a full share in all 
the privileges accorded her adopted son. 


48 


Miss Mischief. 


Frederick Adami, or “ Fred,” as Aunt Rika called 
him, gradually became the master of the house. 
Everything was regulated by him ; it only needed 
a look oh those blue eyes of his into his aunt’s, and 
he had his way. His was a gladsome youth. Rika 
could not bring herself to chide him for misde- 
meanors, for bad school-reports and complaints of 
his teachers. She constantly found excuses for him, 
and the worst thing she ever did was to have him 
called into her room and to say entreatingly to him, 
with tears in her eyes : 

“ Fred, promise me that this shall not happen 
again.” 

This promise he would make with the greatest 
alacrity, to forget it in a half-hour afterward. 

Fred was known throughout the whole town as 
one of the worst boys. The doctor shook his head 
in troubled manner, when he returned home, of an 
evening, from the inn, where the teachers of the 
gymnasium drank their beer; and often he would 
say to his wife : 

“ It all comes of his being trained by a woman. 
What is to be the end of it?” 

“ You must interpose, then, as guardian,” answer- 
ed she, pettishly. 

But he expressed the opinion that he ought not 
and could not do so, for nothing had happened, so 
.far, to justify his interference. 

It was only good luck that, during all those long 
years of her solitude, Aunt Rika had not used up 
the interest of her property, and now found herself 
in a condition to gratify Fred in his expensive tastes. 


The Two Families. 


49 


The boy was vain, and had to have everything he 
wore just so. Her sister Minna called it “ frippery,” 
and, for all his begging and whining, her Fritz, 
you may be sure, had to put up with patched things. 
But Rika excused Fred’s proclivity for elegance on 
the score of that sense of beauty which he had 
inherited from his father, who was an artist. 

Ah, how she loved him — that handsome boy ! 
Loved him as only a heart can love that has thirsted 
for years. So full of tender solicitude was she, so 
passionately blind, that there was no room in her 
heart for any person or thing but the son of the 
man whom she had loved. She found a painfully 
sweet delight in seeking out resemblances between 
them in their faces, dispositions, expressions, 
gestures ; and rapturously would she draw the boy 
to her heart when she thought that she had found 
something. She owned a bust of his father. A 
friend of his, a young sculptor, had once molded it. 
During the long years of their separation it had 
stood upon a console above her work-table and been 
accounted by the lonely woman her most sacred 
treasure. There were moments when Fred resem- 
bled this beautiful head, as though he might have 
stood for its model, himself ; and she loved those 
features. There was no room in her heart for Miss 
Mischief, so unlike her brother. 

For two years the children had been in the house, 
when affairs took a bad turn. A coolness had arisen 
between Fred and Fritz, which soon grew to open 
enmity. One day it came to strife that involved 
the sympathies of the whole household and pro- 


50 


Miss Mischief. 


duced an irreparable breach in their friendship. 
Henceforth “upstairs” and “down-stairs” were 
arrayed against each other like two hostile armies. 
Even the maids in the kitchens took sides, each one 
for her own boy. 

The day on which this happened had been a dark 
and stormy one — an unlucky day from the very 
start. Rika had waked up with the headache. 
Old Dora had then revealed to her that Miss 
Mischief had completely outgrown her last sum- 
mer’s frocks, so that an entirely new set must 
be made for her. Rika, who never found anything 
too much to give Fred, had sighed deeply. 

In the down-stairs hall Minna was scolding the 
gardener because insects had spoiled the young 
green peas in the vegetable beds ; and upon the 
man replying, respectfully, that he was not respon- 
sible for the existence of vermin, he got a yet 
sharper reprimand, and was finally threatened, by 
the angry woman, with instant dismissal. 

Hearing this contention going on, Rika came 
down-stairs, for she hated discord. Her sister, who 
was just starting to go upstairs, met her on the 
landing of the broad staircase, and began, in loud, 
excited tones, to declare that she had had enough of 
that rough, old — Here, all of a sudden, the front 
door flew open, and the two boys rushed in. Minna 
stopped in the very middle of her speech, for again 
the door slammed, and the next minute the youths 
had flung their school-satchels into a corner and fell 
afoul of each other like two game-cocks. 

So quickly was this done, that the two women 


The Two Families . 


5i 


hardly knew how the two combatants had come 
there, who were now wrestling on the deal boards, 
pitching into each other with silent fury. For 
a few seconds, a breathless stillness prevailed ; then 
came a heavy fall, and these hoarse words from 
Fritz : 

“ There, now, you are paid, you Roman dog!” 

And Fred was stretched on the floor as pale as a 
sheet, his face distorted with anger and shame. 
The other fellow jumped into the corner, picked up 
his satchel and was on his way into the garden, 
when he was suddenly confronted by his aunt Rika. 

“ What were you thinking of, you dreadful boy!” 
she gasped. “ How could you lift your big fist 
against one weaker than yourself? Go, I want to 
hear nothing more from you ! Never!” 

The robust young fellow calmly met her gaze ; 
his breath still came quickly, and he was evidently 
still under the influence of excitement, but not for a 
moment did he forget with whom he spoke. 

“You do not understand the matter, aunt,” said 
he, making a circuit around her and disappearing 
through the back-door. 

But Mrs. Roettger’s demeanor was worthy of a 
hero's mother : 

“Well, Fm glad he gave it to the boy; he has 
been wanting a whipping these many days!” 
declared she, composedly. 

“ What is that you say ?” asked Rika, tremulously. 
“ Surely, you are not going to take your badly 
behaved boy under your wing? Are you not 
ashamed of yourself? Do you entirely forget, then, 


52 


Miss Mischief, 


how very dear Fred is to me, and do you not admit 
that I had a right to expect some consideration to 
be shown to the poor, fatherless boy ? You ought 
to punish your son ; punish him until he feels it; I 
desire you to do so/’ 

“ It does not strike me in that light,” replied her 
sister; “punish your own boy; for, certainly, Fritz 
has done nothing wrong.” 

“ Come,” said Aunt Rika, turning toward Fred, 
who had just picked himself up, and was examining 
his torn jacket-sleeve. “ Come ! If other boys 
misbehave, that is no reason why you should do the 
same ! Be off to your room ; 1 am seriously angry !” 

Together the two mounted the stairs, and Minna 
went herself to fetch her boy from the garden, so 
that upstairs and downstairs audiences were held, 
but fruitlessly in both places. 

“ Mother,” urged Fritz, “ ask no more questions. 
He is a thoroughly bad fellow, that Fred.” 

Fred could only ill conceal a certain embarrass- 
ment beneath a false magnanimity. 

“ Let it be, aunt. He meant no great harm.” 

And Aunt Rika passed to her sitting-room, out- 
wardly unreconciled, but inwardly quite touched. 

“ How high-minded he is !” said she. “ Boys will 
fight sometimes, you know. He will not betray the 
secret source of their quarrelling. That is noble.” 

Nevertheless, she had informed him that this 
evening he must take his supper alone in his room, 
and not leave it either until he came to beg her 
pardon. She felt that for once she must interpose 
her authority with sternness. 


The Two Families. 


53 


The grimaces made by her adopted son, when she 
turned her back, she did not see. Frederick Adami 
doubled up his fists after she had withdrawn. Was 
it not too silly of her to shut him up like this ? 
Pshaw ! He was not obliged to mind her. He 
would simply go down into the garden, again tackle 
that awkward clown down there, and pay him back 
well. What concern was it of his if the white rab- 
bit ran into his side of the partition instead of stay- 
ing in that stupid fellow’s And how came he, 
directly after that quarrel, to take up the cudgel so 
fiercely in his aunt’s defense ? He , Frederick Adami, 
could call her whatever he chose. To be sure, if 
Fritz babbled that Fred had called his adopted 
mother “ old trash,” besides bragging that be could 
do whatever he pleased with the old woman, 
because she was so wrapped up in him, that would 
be pretty awkward. 

He was already upon the point of stealing off into 
the garden, when the door opened and in came old 
Dora with his dinner. 

“ How can you do so, Fred ?” said she. “ How 
can you find it in your heart to distress such a good 
aunt ? You do not deserve to have her love you so 
much. Just think, she went herself and got you 
some quince preserves out of the store-room !” 

A mocking smile played about the mouth of the 
handsome boy. For punishment she sent him his 
favorite dainty ? Did not this prove that what he 
had said was exactly true ? He gave up his purpose 
of going into the garden, and, with great appetite, 
seated himself at the table. 


54 


Miss Mischief. 


“ Ask her pardon as soon as you are done,” 
exorted the old woman. 

“ I have nothing to ask pardon for,” answered he. 

“ You cannot go down, then, remember.” 

“ I can if I choose ; but I don’t want to.” 

Then came evening. The threatening clouds had 
dispersed, and it was cooler out-of-doors. Freder- 
ick Adami waited for his aunt, and the aunt waited 
for him. Neither would yield. The boy stood at 
the window ; down yonder Fritz was going into the 
rabbit-warren, whistling contentedly to himself. He 
was evidently reclaiming his property, putting the 
pretty white rabbit back into its old quarters and 
doubly locking the door of the partition, so that it 
could not come open again. Across the yard blew 
a moist, refleshing breeze, coming pleasantly up 
from the Rhine, and the boy sniffed it eagerly. 
Just now, somehow, he felt attracted to the stream 
more powerfully than ever before, for he longed to 
bathe his sore and smarting limbs in its clear, green- 
ish waves. 

Very well. Why should he not please “ the old 
thing ” and beg her pardon? So he picked up his 
straw hat and slunk over into the sitting-room. 

His aunt was not there, but, instead, there stood 
his little sister, on a chair, in front of their aunt’s 
work-table, her figure illumined by the rosy light of 
the setting sun that magically filled the deep win- 
dow-niche. With one knee, the pretty creature, clad 
in faded pink calico, supported herself on this table. 
She had propped both arms against the wall, so 
that she almost embraced the little shelf which bore 


The Two Families . 


55 


her father's plaster bust. Her dark, curly head was 
bent forward and her pouting lips were imprinting 
a tender kiss upon the beautiful brow of the lifeless 
face. There was a sweet, shy fervor in the gesture 
of the little one that was enough to have touched 
anybody’s heart. 

One does not, in general, expect brothers to 
admire their sisters, more especially brothers in 
their teens; but that this brotherly hero should 
have raised his hand and pushed the little girl’s face 
so violently against the plaster cast, that the col- 
lision hurled it from its stand, and it fell to the floor 
with a crash and was dashed to pieces — this was an 
act not to be excused on account of brotherly insen- 
sibility. 

“Silly thing!” cried he, shocked himself. “See 
there what you have done now!” 

And at this instant entered Aunt Rika. The 
little girl still stood upon the chair, motionless from 
fright; there was something unnaturally stolid in 
the pallor of her face ; and the woman, who could 
be goodness itself, at sight of her shattered treas- 
ure became hard, until it amounted to cruelty. 

“ You abominable, wicked child !” cried she. 
“ Did you come only to bring me misfortune ? 
Would to God I had never seen you !” 

She dragged the trembling child from the chair, 
and hurled her forward, so that her body fell against 
the outer door. 

Dora picked her up. Silent and quivering the 
girl lay in her arms, and from her delicately curved 
upper lip trickled a drop of blood. 


56 


Miss Mischief. 


“Jule, darling Jule !” pleaded the old woman, 
while the tears ran down her cheeks, after she had 
laid the child upon her own little bed, and washed 
away the blood. “ What have you done ? Do tell 
me !” 

But not a word of complaint or accusation crossed 
her lips, distorted as they were by pain. 

Aunt Rika would not even see Julia, and ordered, 
moreover, that she should go hungry to bed. And 
so, while down in the garden, under the walnut- 
tree, her brother took tea beside the aunt, having 
been again taken into favor, the little girl sat at the 
window of a dark room upstairs, her eyes fastened 
upon the river, with a look of grief upon her face 
that was out of all keeping with her years ; and as 
she sat thus she listened to the nightingale that was 
warbling below and to the gentle murmuring of the 
stream. 

On the farther shore, from time to time, there 
would quiver a vivid flash of lightning, bathing the 
garden in red light. Entirely alone she sat there, 
for Dora had gone to visit her married step-daugh- 
ter. 

If she had been asked whether she were cold or 
hungry, she could hardly have told. She was only 
conscious of a longing after goodness, after love, 
after one caressing word. Oh, such an intense long- 
ing! 

Then came a soft tap at the door. 

“ Here !” said Fritz’s voice in a whisper ; and it 
was the stranger because hitherto he had hardly 
deigned a glance at her — “ here, little mischief ! 


The Two Families. 


57 


Louise thinks that you did not get a mouthful of 
supper to-night.” 

And then the big boy stooped down and put a 
slice of buttered bread into the child’s lap. 

“ Don’t cry, now, Mischief,” said he soothingly. 

She did not cry, but neither did she eat. She 
gazed fixedly at the door through which the boy had 
vanished. Her little heart palpitated, and she was 
thrilled through and through. 

Like a sunbeam that warms into life an expanding 
bud that had been well-nigh nipped by the cold, 
so good was done to that desolate child’s heart by 
those few awkward words, and a spark was kindled 
in that affrighted soul which was one day to become 
a strong and mighty flame. 

From that time Rika was cooler than ever toward 
the “mischievous child.” The “upstairs” and 
“ down-stairs ” people continued to have strained 
relations. The sisters always exchanged salutations 
when they met ; but that no love was lost between 
them the dullest observer could perceive. The 
boys went separately to school, and came home Rie 
same way. That they were in the same classes did 
not mend matters ; for Fred took his own time 
about his studies, while Fritz learned with more 
diligence than ever before. 

And thus divided did the old people enter upon 
the autumn of their lives and the young ones upon 
their spring— and lo ! all of a sudden they were in 
the hey-day of this spring, and from children had 
become grown people. 



CHAPTER V. 

“ NO MORE DARKNESS IN THE WORLD.” 

How delightful the day when a young girl calls 
herself eighteen ! A peculiar charm attends it, 
more especially if that day falls upon the end of 
May, when all the rosebuds are bursting into bloom ; 
when, moreover, the Rhine glides past that rose- 
garden and the perfume of blossoms fills the air. 
One can so easily picture to himself the happy one 
to whom this birthday has come, as she flits through 
the garden in white gown and beaming eyes, full of 
the rapturous joy of existence. 

Thus it may and should be ; but thus it was not 
with Miss Mischief on the May-day that she became 
eighteen years old. She awoke early, it is true ; 
but this was just as usual. Not a trace of joyful 
expectation was stamped upon her countenance. 

She had her little chamber all to herself now. 
Dora lived in the house no longer, but somewhere 
in the town, in a little rented room ; for it was 
found that her services could now be dispensed 
with. “ Jule ” was grown up, and the young master 
[58] 


“ No more darkness in the world. 


59 


was no longer at home ; so Rika dismissed the old 
woman, and only kept one maid, quite a young one, 
about fifteen years old. Anyhow, it was time for 
Julia to learn how to keep house. 

The young girl was not surprised to-day that no 
myrtle stood by her bed nor a bunch of flowers, 
and that no dear, loving face leaned over hers, say- 
ing in tender tones : “ God bless you, darling !’* 

She made her toilet as usual, pushed open the win- 
dow, drank in fresh draughts of morning air, while 
she plaited her long black hair, which was now 
arranged in a single knot at the back of her head. 
She had grown tall and slender, being still of deli- 
cate build, and having more the air of a foreigner 
than ever she had had in childhood. At all events, 
she was like her mother. She had a small Roman 
nose, a low forehead and a firm, round chin ; the 
whole lighted up by a pair of dark, lustrous eyes, 
in which, as Mrs. Roettger expressed it, something 
glimmered. Well, we shall see what, if she does 
drop those long ey e-lashes so modestly over them. 

Her clothing was very simple. Aunt Rika made 
a point of doing all she could to tone down what 
was striking in her appearance. A light-blue calico 
gown and white apron, which the girl had set off 
with as much pretty needlework as was deemed 
allowable — such was her birthday attire. How was 
it to be any different, seeing that a large wash had 
been given out for the celebration of this day ? Her 
beloved earings had long since been taken away 
from her; but to this day Julia mechanically 
clutched the tip of one of her small ears when she 


6o 


Miss Mischief 


was embarrassed, as formerly she had been accus- 
tomed to twirl the rings that hung there, under 
similar circumstances, until her aunt would tap her 
on the lingers. She did look in the mirror this 
morning a while longer than usual ; but when she 
heard the clock strike seven, she ran hurriedly into 
the kitchen, to see after breakfast. Then, waiter in 
hand, she proceeded to the sitting-room, where 
Aunt Rika sat at the open window, looking toward 
her with a face that was pale and much aged. 

“ Good morning, aunt,” said the young girl. 

“ Good morning, Julia,” was the measured reply. 

The girl filled the cups and settled herself in her 
chair. 

“ Does it suit you, aunt ?” 

Rika crossed over to where she sat. 

“ I congratulate you, my child,” she said, touching 
the girl’s forehead with her lips. “ And here is a 
trifle for you.” She put a little packet into her 
hand. “ Be right saving with it, you know — ” 

A deep sigh closed this speech, and Rika sank 
back in her chair and began to stir the contents of 
her cup. 

A momentary flush of joy brightened the girl's 
countenance. 

“ I thank you, dear aunt — and may I do as 1 like 
with the money?” asked she, without raising her 
eyes. 

“ Yes, provided that it is not spent on follies ; that 
is to say, I did hope that you would save it up.” 

Julia spoke not a word, but it was evident that a 
damper had fallen upon her pleasure in the gift. 


No more darkness in the ivorld. 


»> 


61 


“ To-day, toward evening,” continued Rika, “ when 
the house-linen is washed, you may go to the dress- 
maker’s and have yourself fitted for a white dress. 
1 used always to wear white when I was a young 
girl. The doctor’s wife says she is going to invite 
you to her Easter-party. At eighteen, you have a 
right to some of the enjoyments of youth.” 

“ Please, aunt,” objected the girl, “ let me stay at 
home. “ I don’t know those people, and — ’’ 

“ If I only knew, Julia, why you keep yourself so 
aloof from the rest of the world ! You are to go, I 
tell you ! I desire it particularly, lest it be said I 
am not fond of you, and treat you like a step-child.” 

The young girl uttered not another word. She 
poured out a second cup for the old woman, and 
then prepared to leave the room. 

“ Be sure, now, and do not let the clothes be so 
shockingly blue, as they were the last time !” called 
out Rika after her; immediately afterwards drawing 
an unopened letter out of the pocket of her gray 
gown. Ere she broke open the seal she drew a 
deep breath, her color coming and going rapidly. 

In the front hall below, divers articles of furni- 
ture were standing around, and Minna’s maid was 
beating regular clouds of dust out of the brown-rep 
cushions, as if working for a wager. The doors of 
two rooms were wide open, the apartments of the 
young gentleman to whom these stiff-backed chairs 
and sofas belonged, and the char- woman scrubbed 
the floors with a zeal that argued fear of her mis- 
tress, who never took her eyes off her proceedings. 

Minna had neither eyes norears for her, and Miss 


62 


Miss Mischief. 


Mischief could begin her birthday celebration unde- 
tained. 

“ If you would like to wash the table-cloths and 
napkins first,” said the old washerwoman, address- 
ing her, “ then I’ll help you to carry the basket.” 
And in a few minutes the river was gained. 

Only a narrow foot-path separated the garden 
from the shore, that was tolerably steep hereabout. 
Andersheim did not belong to those places on the 
glorious Rhine, past which rushes the detestable rail- 
road between river and gardens ; here, its track ran 
in the rear of the village, and on the water, espec- 
ially in front of the Trautmann garden, it was just 
as idyllic as in those days when rails and steam-cars 
belonged to the realm of things unknown. 

Steps led down to the river, and in front of these 
rocked the old boat, in the shade of the walnut- 
trees that lifted their luxuriant branches on high, 
stretching them over the garden-wall as though 
they wanted to see themselves mirrored in the 
crystal-clear waters beyond. 

Julia drew forward the boat, stepped in and had 
the clothes-basket handed to her ; then for a little 
while after the old woman had disappeared, she 
stood there idly gazing beyond the broad, glittering 
expanse of water, whither the great meadows 
stretched out on the other side, above which hung 
the soft blue haze of early morning. 

How delicious this morning was ! So grandly 
rushed the river, so merrily danced the sunbeams 
over thousands of little waves, so laden with per- 
fume came the breeze, that the heart of that young 


“No more darkness in the world!' 63 


creature expanded and her eyes moistened, and 
involuntarily she folded her hands. 

“ If one were only not so utterly alone !” whis- 
pered she ; and then there flashed up in her dreamy 
eyes a light as of two blessed stars of hope, and she 
smiled, while she knelt in the bow of the little boat and 
absent-mindedly dipped a napkin in the waves. 

Then again she sat still, as though lost in thought, 
gazing into space, the corners of her mouth droop- 
ing in a way that strangely saddened and altered the 
expression of her whole face. And now she gave a 
slight shriek, for the napkin had slipped from her 
hand, and was floating fast down stream. 

“ Oh, me !” cried the affrighted girl. “ It is the 
damask napkin with inwoven motto.” 

She leaped forward as far as possible and beat the 
water with a pole, as if that could help ; then again 
she stood upright and, with wide-open eyes, scrutin- 
ized a boatman who was rowing up the river, close 
to the shore, and the figure of a man who was fishing 
up the napkin with a boat hook. 

“Halloa!” called a deep voice. “It would not 
surprise me if it were a piece of Miss Mischief’s 
doings. Of course! Yes; is it really you, Mis- 
chief ?” 

The boat had now come close up, and in it stood 
a tail, broad-shouldered man. With one hand 
he lifted his hat in greeting, while with the other he 
held fast the boat-hook, whence the napkin still 
dangled. But his eyes hung with unconcealed 
astonishment upon the maiden, who, with the 
pallor of a great excitement on her face, stood in 


6 4 


Miss Mischief. 


the gently rocking boat like some rare and charming 
picture. 

“ Well, how do you do ?” said he finally. “ For I 
see it is you, Mischief, and no mistake. Who 
else in the whole town should have such black hair 
and eyes? And who but Julia Adatui could stand 
there so proudly, the very ideal of classical repose ? 
And washing on your eighteenth birthday! How- 
ever, that is classical, all the same, child ; in old 
times it was, I believe, a favorite pastime with 
the daughters of princes.” 

And he tossed the napkin so that it fell, with a 
splash, upon the bow of the boat, in which the girl 
stood, and then swung himself over. 

“ Once more, Julia, I wish you good day, and 
many happy returns of your birthday !” 

Hereupon she slowdy held out to him a trembling 
little hand, but her eyes did not meet his. They 
were still standing thus, when the man who had 
rowed young Dr. Fritz Roettger here was already 
far down the stream again. 

They were aroused from their silent absorption, 
by the rushing past of a steamer, that put their boat 
into considerable peril, by the violence of the com- 
motion made in the water. 

The doctor laughed. 

“ See, Miss Mischief, a little more, and it would 
have been with yourself like the poor napkin, and I 
should have had to fish you out. But tell me about 
everything in the world, child. What have you 
been doing with yourself these two years? You 


“No more darkness in the zvortd." 65 


have grown a foot ! And what has become of that 
wizened-up little face of yours? You are — ” 

He was arrested in paying her a glowing compli- 
ment by the vivid blush that mantled her cheek. 

“ I believe your mother is not expecting you until 
Easter Eve,” said she. 

“ Yes, that may well be ; but Berlin suddenly 
became too narrow for me. I had nothing more to 
do there, so took my departure, and am here, as you 
see.” 

“ And are you here to stay for good ?” she asked 
falteringly. 

“ Possibly — at least, I promised mother that I 
would. It depends upon whether the worthy 
citizens of Andersheim will have the discernment to 
commit their precious bodies to my treatment.” 

“ Are you not going in to see your mother?” 

“ No, not yet. I am very well pleased here ; and 
as mother is not expecting me, there is no occasion 
to hurry. 1 would rather hear how the world fares 
with you now-a-days.” 

She had again begun to wash. 

“ Always the same,” said she, while a few drops 
of water splashed upon her hair and rested there 
like sparkling gems. 

He was silent and looked at her. What a queer 
sort of a girl this little Julia had grown to be, and 
how hopeless the sound of those words, “ Always 
the same !” He felt oppressed in spirit, and he was 
to share in that monotonous existence, share in it 
his whole lifelong ? 

“ Mischief,” he implored, “ be done with that 


66 


Miss Mischief. 


dabbling! The maid can do that surely. It is 
dreadful! You should rather enjoy your young 
life!” And he had suddenly seated himself beside 
her on the little bench, and thrown his arm around 
her. /‘You used always to give me a kiss when I 
came, you know? And at parting, too. To-day, on 
your birthday, I must give you one!” 

And ere she knew how it happened, he had 
pressed his lips to hers. She quickly shrhnk and 
looked up at him. There was a strange gleam in 
those dark orbs of hers, for an instant, when her 
eye-lashes again fell, and her countenance grew 
almost stern. 

“ No more of that, please. I am no longer a 
child,” said she. 

“ No harm meant, dear Mischief !” said he, rising 
and leaping upon shore, whence he made her a pro- 
found bow, then turned, and ran up the landing- 
stairs. “ It is only that mother may have time to 
kill the fatted calf, Mischief. We ’ll meet soon 
again ?” 

She gazed after him, every particle of color leav- 
ing her face. 

How helplessly she sat there ; and, all of a sudden, 
she clasped her hands before her eyes, as though 
the sun and the play of the waves blinded her ; and 
thus she was still sitting when the old woman 
brought her a second basket of clothes to wash. 

The young doctor bolted straight into his 
mother’s sitting-room, at a time that he would not 
have selected himself had he had any idea of the 
scene being enacted there. 


u No more darkness in the world." 67 


Yonder stood his mother, shivering by the por- 
celain stove, as if warmth were to be gotten there 
in summer, with a face full of vexation and red from 
anger, while at the window sat Aunt Rika, very 
pale, with a letter in her hand. 

“Is that you, Fritz?” exclaimed his mother, as 
soon as she caught sight of him. “How lucky! 
Why you come in the very nick of time !” 

And, after a hurried kiss, the excited woman drew 
him forward until he stood before his aunt’s chair. 

“There! You tell her, Fritz, once for all. She 
will not believe me.” 

“ How do you do, aunt ? What is this that you will 
not believe ?’’ he asked as he greated her pleasantly. 

“That Fred is a — a — wild blade, to use a mild 
term,” cried his mother. 

Aunt Rika looked at her nephew like a wounded 
doe. “ Have mercy, Fritz, mercy !” said her tear- 
stained eyes. 

“ Alas ! I can give you no news of Fred, aunt,” 
said the young surgeon with friendly earnestness. 
“ I only passed him once in the street. You can 
hardly imagine it, but in such a great city, where 
each one must go his own way, it — ” 

“ I am so grieved, Fritz, that you two still shun 
each other’s company.” 

“ Aunt, it is so in the nature of things. Officers 
hold themselves — must hold themselves — rather 
aloof trom common folks. It has not been of set 
purpose on either side,” he said with honest intent 
to comfort her. 

“Do not pretend as if you did not know that Fred 


68 


Miss Mischief. 


Adami plays the grand lord,” said his mother with 
her amiable candor. “ Ladies, dinners, suppers at 
the most expensive restaurants — if he does not know 
it I do, Rika, and tell you so to your face. Shut 
your eyes no longer to the fact, and tie up your 
purse-strings tighter, else that will happen which 1 
prophesied eight years ago when that boy had made 
that big bill at the confectioner’s. You’ll leave this 
house a beggar, just as I told you then.” 

“ Do pray,” cried Aunt Rika, in an injured 
tone, “ do not be forever raking up that old, for- 
gotten story. As for the rest, I’ll disturb you no 
longer, since we cannot agree. I am very glad, 
indeed, to see you at home again, Fritz, and wish you 
God’s richest blessings,” said she, turning to the 
young doctor, at the same time hastily leaving the 
room so that her relations might not see the tears 
that gushed from her eyes. 

Her sister looked after her. 

“ Hard-headed to the last !” she cried. 

“ What did aunt want, dear mother?” 

“ What did she want ? Why, money ! A mort- 
gage upon the house !” 

“ Has it come to that?” he asked, in a voice 
expressive of deep concern. 

“ Her difficulties began long ago. Two years ago 
I gave her three thousand dollars upon the house. 
She has an excessive dread of any public attention 
being called to her situation. To-day, she suddenly 
comes to me for a renewed loan. It is a pity ! She 
has no longer enough to even cover the cost of her 
more than simple housekeeping ; she stints herself 


“ No more darkness in the world? 69 


in all directions, almost to the point of going hungry. 
That good servant-girl has been dismissed, and Julia 
must needs move her hands briskly. But that is the 
very thing ; if it were not for her , she could eat at 
my table, for I would willingly give her food. But 
there is that Mischief come to stay, and she must, 
forsooth, be kept like a princess.” 

The young doctor laughed aloud. 

“Do princesses, nowadays, wash clothes in the 
Rhine ?” 

“ Well, do not laugh too soon. Rika has just told 
me that the young lady, from this time forth, is to 
attend the balls at the Casino.” 

“ Well, why not ?” 

“ Dear me, only think of the cost ! Dress, for the 
first item.” 

“ W ell, let us leave this subject. Can you not help 
aunt?” 

“How can I? I have told her I would buy the 
house — for a moderate price, of course. Well, I 
just wish you would guess the price she asked — 
positively ridiculous ! I represented to her that she 
would get her lodging free, besides use of the 
garden; but she stands to the sum she named at 
first. It would be dreadful, though”’ continued the 
old lady, sighing, “ if it should fall into other hands; 
it lies so well for your purposes — this quarter of the 
town is being newly built up and occupied by the 
nicest people. It were only endurable in one case ; 
1 could stand to have Neighbor Krautner buy it.” 

She made a pause. 

“ You will be obliged to marry, Fritz; an unmar- 


70 


Miss Mischief. 


ried doctor can never get along. So, a wife, in the 
very first place, is your greatest necessity/’ 

The handsome fellow laughed outright. 

“ Mother, would you like to know what is really 
my greatest necessity,” cried he. “ Breakfast !” 

Now, for the first time, the old lady realized that 
her son, whom she had not seen for two years, had 
taken her by surprise and was actually there in 
bodily presence. She ran quite nimbly, hither and 
thither, bringing up whatever she could lay her 
hands on in cellar and kitchen, meanwhile apolo- 
gizing for the disorderly state in which he would 
find his own rooms. When, however, she at last sat 
still and saw him eating with excellent appetite, she 
said once more : 

“ It really is necessary, Fritz, for you to get your- 
self a wife. What father of a family in good circum- 
stances would send for a young bachelor to attend 
his wife or daughters? As for the rest, this very 
afternoon we might pay visits to the Eisemanns and 
the Krautners.” 

“Whom shall we see there?” 

“Well, the people are neighbors, and Theresa 
often sits with us in our arbor.” 

“Eh? Theresa? And who may she be, pray ?” 

“ Mr. Krautner’s daughter. She and Jule are 
great friends, both being about the same age. I 
would not suffer it if I were in Rika’s place. But 
that girl has the art of catching all the rich people’s 
ways. But what concern is it of mine? Say, 
though, do you really know nothing of Fred ?” 

“ Mother,” answered the young man, “ do not 


“No more darkness in the wor/d." 


7i 


question me about him. Talking will not mend 
matters. I am only grieved for those two upstairs." 

“ Tell, though ! Do tell — ” cried his mother. 

But he no longer heard what she said. He had 
to see if his trunk had come, he called back. 

If the newly-arrived son had expected to be wel- 
comed home with a feast in his honor at noonday 
luncheon, it only showed that he did not exactly 
know his own mother. There was nothing but the 
smell usual on washing and scouring-day, with the 
cold comfort attendant. However, Fritz was no 
epicure, and ate contentedly the plain fare set before 
him. But whether it were the odor of the steam 
from the clothes-boiler, or the fact that his room 
was too damp for him to go into it and unpack until 
toward evening, he found himself in a condition of 
the greatest discomfort. 

In the sitting-room his mother was nodding in her 
chair, and from upstairs came dreamily the sound of 
a grinding coffee-mill. He stood upon the threshold 
of his future quarters. How bare it all looked ! 
Well, if his books and instruments were only un- 
packed, then — But — good gracious ! — where was 
he to put them ? There was not even a press ready for 
them. Suddenly it occurred to him that the shelves 
from his deceased grandfather's office must be in 
the garret; and, smoking as he went, he mounted 
the stairs, stepping softly across the hall, so as not 
to disturb the afternoon nap of his poor afflicted 
aunt, and climbed the steep garret-steps. 

Such a homely room, under the roof as it was, 
crowded with all manner of rubbish ; such strong 


72 


Miss Mischief. 


wood-work, and that mysterious gloom such as 
spiders love to spin their webs in and under the 
shadow of which generations of mice lead a miser- 
able existence, through dread of the house cat. 

They no longer have such garrets in new-fashioned 
houses, where every corner must be turned into a 
habitation for man. 

The )^oung physician had always had a partiality 
for this place, from its association with his childish 
plays; for here they had hid themselves in its dark- 
est corners to play cards, and here made their first 
trials in smoking. For the first time he began to 
have a home-feeling since he had gotten up here. 
And, actually, there hung still the rope in which he 
had swung Miss Mischief ; and there in the chimney- 
corner stood the old broken wheel which the little 
girl used to take such delight in turning. 

He set himself diligently to work in moving out 
of the way divers boxes, chairs and broken furni- 
ture, in order to reach the desired shelves, which he 
could see peeping out from behind, and, as he did 
this, he said to himself in an undertone : 

“ Beauty is another matter ; but they ’ll do for a 
beginning. Later, if I must marry, as mother says, 
then new things must be gotten.” 

At this instant he paused ; the door of the garret- 
room opposite distinctly creaked, and, turning sud- 
denly around, he saw this door close slowly. 

“ What, is the place actually haunted ?” cried he ; 
and with two bounds he had cleared the space 
between and was rattling at the bolt. One push, 
and the little hand that had held it with all its 


“ No more darkness in the world!' 73 


strength from the inside, yielded, and Fritz stood 
before Miss Mischief. 

“ You here?” asked he, in bewilderment. “Do 
you still hide up here ?” 

“ Oh, please go !” implored she, with embarrass- 
ment. 

But he did not go. 

“ I want to see what you are carrying on up here,” 
said he, crossing the threshold. Then he hushed. 

In one corner, just under the blinking, drowsy 
dormer-window, whose glass, blind with age, scin- 
tillated in every color of the rainbow, stood an 
invalid’s arm-chair, with moth-eaten cushions, in 
front of a table bearing all the materials for water- 
color painting. A quantity of little leather boxes, 
most probably meant for postage-stamps, lay in a 
small basket, and a half-dozen of them, ready- 
painted and set out to dry, stood in line like soldiers. 
He took one of the little boxes in his hand and 
examined it. The flying dove, carrying a tiny 
letter hung on his neck by a blue ribbon, seemed to 
have been painted by means of a few bold strokes ; 
the motion of the bird’s wings were true to nature, 
and in spite of the hackneyed design and evidently 
unpracticed hand, there was a tone of originality 
and skill about the whole. 

He looked from the dove across to the girl. She 
stood before him pale and impatient, her teeth 
biting her under-lip. 

“ I had no suspicion, Julia, that you painted,” said 
he ; “ but how came you to choose so monotonous 
an employment ? For whom ? Why should doves 


74 


Miss Mischief. 


be hatched out by the dozen ? Does Aunt Rika 
know about it?’' 

“ Nobody does. It is not for you to know either. 
Please forget it.” 

“But, Julia, do not be so unfriendly,” he begged. 
“ I should think you would know from the past that 
we are good comrades. Have I ever betrayed your 
confidence? To tell the truth, I am heartily 
rejoiced that you do something else besides wash- 
ing. Only this manufacture of things by the 
quantity is unintelligible to me. Tell me, child, do 
you make a traffic of your pretty work ? Pocket- 
money, is it? And have you been taught? You 
must have painted something else besides. Show 
it to me, please.” And he snatched up an old 
leather portfolio, from which peeped out paper such 
as is used in water-color painting. 

“ Let that lie !” ordered she, with flashing eyes 
and her feet planted firmly. “ It is only play,” she 
added ; “ good for nothing, like myself. One 
Christmas I made aunt a present of such a little 
picture, and got scolded for my pains. Taught? 
Where should I get taught ? 1 would learn nothing, 
you know. That” — and she pointed contemptu- 
ously to the little leather boxes — “that I do now 
because — I like to do it,” she wound up, crossing 
her arms, and resembling, at that moment, one of 
the proudest old Roman dames who thinks to send 
from her presence a slave who has offended her. 

“ I want to tell you something, Julia,” said he 
composedly. “ You are painting to earn money. 
But for whom ? For whom ?” 


“ No more darkness in the worlds 


75 


“ For whom else but myself, supposing that you 
are right ?” 

“ I am afraid you — ” 

“ Oh, please, don’t be afraid of anything !” said 
she, with sparkling eyes. “ As for the rest, 1 must 
go now and give the washerwoman her supper.” 

“All right ; I’ll go with you. I beg your pardon 
for annoying you.” 

There was a certain tone in his voice that softened 
her. 

“ Don’t be angry, Fritz,” she suddenly implored, 
holding out her right hand to him with averted face. 

He took it compassionately in both his hands. 

“ Poor little Mischief !” 

There was the same tone of sensibility with which 
he had once before, years ago, said to the child : 
“ Now, don’t cry ; rather eat.” And she drew her 
disengaged hand over her eyes to hide her glowing 
blushes. 

“Julia,” said he, softly drawing her to his side. 
And suddenly the girl’s beautiful head lay upon his 
breast. “ Child, you must have had a hard time of 
it all these years! But I am here now, and you 
must tell me everything. Do you hear? Every- 
thing that troubles you. I will not have you mourn- 
ful in the very fairest days of your life. Now, just 
as before I went to Gottingen, you must remember 
that there is one to whom you can tell all your 
troubles.” 

She made no answer, but only suffered him to 
stroke her hair. Then he, too, became silent and 
let her head rest upon his bosom. And it was 


76 


Miss Mischief. 


so still up here, so deathly still! Only the wood- 
worm ticked in the rafters, and Fritz Roettger’s 
heart beat so loud that he thought its throbbings 
must be heard. Slowly he then lifted the maiden’s 
face and looked into the half-vailed depths of her 
beautiful eyes ; and for the second time to-day he 
kissed her mouth, but this time more passionately 
than before and longer; and this time she made no 
resistance. Her arms were thrown tenderly and 
softly around his neck, and a sound as of a stifled 
shout of joy thrilled through the low-pitched room. 

In a minute more she was alone. She knelt before 
the old arm-chair as though it were an altar for 
thank-offerings and folded her hands, her proud, 
beautiful face uplifted and full of rapture. 

“ Oh, Lord,” she passionately exclaimed : “ I 

thank Thee that for me there is no more darkness in 
the world !” 

And down-stairs he stood, looking somewhat 
downcast. 

“ Folly !” he murmered. “ What an old block- 
head I am ! Zounds, though! I suppose 1 have a 
right to kiss my so-called cousin. Ahem ! I wish 
I hadn’t done it though. Heigh-ho ! It signifies 
nothing I hope to Julia. That were the last drop in 
her cup, I do declare!” 

“ Fritz !” called the shrill voice of his mother. “ 1 
am ready. Let us go and call on the Krautners.’ 

He sighed and took his hat from the rack. 

“ Poor little Mischief !” he murmured once more. 

Toward evening, Aunt Rika came back from the 
doctor’s. She dragged one foot after the other as 


* No more darkness in the world. 


11 


heavily as though the pressure of care had para- 
lyzed her limbs. Just then the whole atmosphere 
was, as it were, permeated with gold-dust, and the 
old gabled turrentsof the town-houses, the fountains 
and garden-trees were tinted with crimson by the 
setting sun. 

She saw none of this ; her senses were closed to 
all but one thing: How could she get money? 
Suddenly, close before her, came forth from the low- 
arched door of a small house a girlish figure, walk- 
ing rapidly along in front of her. What an elastic 
step and what a graceful, slender form, in spite of 
the ill-made gown. 

What had come over Julia? Her feet fairly 
danced, and all the people that met her turned to 
get another peep at the radiant face beneath that 
round straw hat. 

“ Julia !” cried the old lady. Hereupon the girl 
turned quickly around, revealing a countenance 
luminous from the reflection of a great inward joy. 
The afflicted woman did not understand this. She 
was only conscious of beauty’s enchanting power, 
and this ever vexed her anew, reminding her, as it 
did of the past. “ Walk properly,” said she, in fault- 
finding tones. The girl had now caught up with 
her. “Where have you been, Julia ?” 

“ At the dressmaker’s as you directed, aunt. I 
think the dress would be lovely if I could only get 
a few red ribbons to wear with it.” 

Her aunt did not reply. 

“ Come to my chamber this evening, I want your 


78 


Miss Mischief, 


help about some accounts,” she remarked, after a 
while, and then they went along together. 

Before the front gate, the upstairs and down-stairs 
people met. 

“ Well,” asked Minna of her sister, “ have you got 
any money ? I’ll wager the doctor has given you 
some. Now hasn’t he? You are the one for luck, 
Rika !” 

There sat aunt and niece upstairs, puzzling over 
accounts until late into the night of that May-day. 
The numbers grew confused before the eyes of the 
young girl ; everything came out wrong, and Aunt 
Rika got more impatient and paler from minute to 
minute. 

“ Three thousand marks of interest to pay, and 
only four thousand five hundred of income!” mur- 
mured she. “ Fred gets a thousand of that as an 
addition to his salary.” And suddenly she put out 
the lamp and leaned back in her chair. 

For awhile it seemed quite dark, but gradually 
this was made up for by the moonlight that poured 
into the little room through the window, and from 
out-doors sounded the warbling of nightingales and 
distant singing. 

“Julia!” broke in harshly upon this peaceful 
quiet. 

. “ Aunt ?” 

“ It is hard for me to tell you, but — I cannot 
support you. You will have to go — and earn your 
own living. I have hardly enough for myself.’ 

No answer. 

“ Julia, do you not hear? Come here !” 


“ No more darkness in the world. 


79 


Then she came over, and the old lady looked into 
a stolid countenance. 

‘‘Didn’t you understand me, child ?” 

“ No !” was breathed rather than spoken. 

“Well, then, 1 shall speak more plainly. Fred 
has used up more of my property than I was able to 
give. Everything in the world is so altered now. 
I had no idea myself what expenses the officer’s 
rank entailed, and little dreamed what the outcome 
would be when he was ordered to Berlin, a year 
and a half ago. Only this much I know, that I have 
hardly enough left to keep soul and body together 
and that 1 cannot let you starve with me. You 
know a little about housekeeping, and, although 
you are not perfect in the business, you ’ll learn 
little by little. Of course, just at first you will not 
expect high wages. I will put an advertisement in 
the newspaper, and some place will be found for you 
before midsummer. I must then see how I shall 
manage matters.” 

Still not a sound in reply. 

“ Well, Julia?” 

All of a sudden, there was the girl on her knees 
before her. 

“Let me starve with you, aunt!” she pleaded in 
a voice choked by sobs. “ Oh, let me beg of you, 
please, please, not to send me from you ! I ’h work 
day and night, and I can earn money here ! You 
do not believe me ? Oh, yes, I have done so already ! 
I wanted it for — Oh, aunt, aunt, leave me here \ 
I cannot go away !” 


8o 


Miss Mischief. 


“ You make my burden hard to bear,” murmured 
the old lady. 

“ Aunt, we could rent out some of the rooms up 
here. I ’ll work as a maid and will not go to balls 
nor seek my pleasure, but stay quietly here in the 
garden. Oh, just leave me here !” 

And when the old lady did not stir, she continued 
her protest against being turned out of that 
wretched home, where she had been a stranger 
to love, and all the years of her young life had 
experienced nothing but neglect and hardness — con- 
tinued to plead, because it seemed worse than death 
to shun his presence, that had been for her the sun- 
shine of life since that evening when, after being 
berated and thrust out, she had sat alone in her little 
room, hungry and desolate, and he had comforted her. 

“ Aunt, dear aunt !” 

With irresistible entreaty in their expression, those 
beautiful, flaming eyes were lifted to the woman 
who held the destiny of her life in her hands. 

“We shall see. Stand up !” 

That was all of the consolation that was granted 
her, but to the girl it seemed infinitely much. She 
jumped up. 

“ Thank you, aunt. You shall never repent of it.” 

Then she had vanished like the moonbeam that, 
a while ago, lay, silverly white, on the floor. 

The solitary woman at the window gazed upon 
the dark cloud that had hidden the face of the moon, 
and again her heart was turned away from the child 
by recollection of its mother. Thus she had been 
wont to plead, too ! What a lack of womanly pride! 


“ No more darkness in the world. 


81 


If any one had said to her : “ Rika Trautmann, go !” 
not a word would she have lost. But how could 
nobility of mind be expected in the daughter of a 
woman who had offered herself to her husband ? 

Julia, however, flew down the garden-walk. 
Exactly what she wanted she knew not herself. Her 
quivering nerves sought repose. She slipped 
through the little gate down to the river, and there 
stood pressing her hands upon her beating heart. 
The dark years of her childhood passed in review 
before her — those years for which his friendship had 
supplied the only brightness. And now that star 
had became a sun, a radiant, golden sun, and her 
night had changed into day — what a blissfully glori- 
ous day ! 

“ Good-evening, Jule ?” called out a clear voice 
behind her. 

She started and turned around. 

“ Why are you standing there looking into the 
water, like one meditating suicide ?” 

“ Good-evening, Theresa !” replied the girl, with 
a light sigh, and stepping up to the wall of the 
neighbor’s garden, she reached up her hand to clasp 
that of a fair, graceful girl that leaned forward from 
a vine-covered bower. 

“ How are you getting along, my dear ?” Theresa 
went on. “ I congratulate you upon such a lovely 
birthday ? I would have gladly come over, but saw 
you busy washing early in the morning, and in the 
afternoon your aunt came over on a visit with the 
doctor, and you know how father is — always happy 
if he finds a congenial spirit, whom he can drag down 


82 


Miss Mischief. 


into the cellar with him. They stayed with us to 
supper and have only just gone home.” 

The delicate face, crowned by fluffy golden hair, 
smiled down roguishly upon her young neighbor. 

“Hark, Julia! Ido believe that is your doctor 
singing there. Father’s favorite song, too.” 

And the doctor’s deep voice actually did ring out 
upon the night air: 

“ Only on the Rhine I'll live ; 

Only on the Rhine claim birth. 

Golden wine thy vineyards give, 

Rhineland, sweetest spot on earth !” 

The girls listened, as still as mice. The singer on 
the other side of the wall came nearer. Now he 
had left the garden, descended the steps leading 
down to the water, and uncoupling the boat, rowed 
himself out into the broad, glistening river, as he 
had done innumerable times before when a boy. 

“ Good night,” said Julia, softly, to her friend, 
slipping into the garden. But Theresa paid no 
heed to her ; she was waving her handkerchief and 
calling across the water : 

“ Sing on, doctor ! But beware of the Nixes !” 

And, upon Julia’s turning around, Theresa her- 
self seemed transformed into a water-sprite, with 
her fair, glistening locks and her airy white robe; 
but from the boat no answer came back, and the 
girl smiled blissfully to herself. What if all the 
golden-haired water-sprites of the whole river 
hoald come, she was not afraid of them; for she 
had faith and loved. 



CHAPTER VI. 

DREAMS. 

On the night after Fritz Roettger’s arrival, two 
letters were written to Fred. Aunt Rika’s letter ran 
thus : 

“ My Darling Boy: With this, I send you the 
money you wanted. I am sorry you have so many 
expenses ; one pays dearly for epaulets, especially in 
Berlin. But the term there will soon roll around, 
and when you are in garrison, you can live more 
plainly again. Can you not, Fred ? I had a little 
dispute with your Aunt Minna over this money. 
She is of opinion that you spend more than you 
ought to. She knows nothing about the claims 
made on an officer. We never had a military man 
in our family before. I trust you, and believe that 
you love your old aunt too much to be extravagant. 
You know how much money has fallen in value, and 
know, too, that I must make provision for your 
sister as well. 

“ I am rejoiced that we may expect you at Easter. 
You will bring sunshine with you for the holidays. 
Fritz is here. He says that you and he seldom or 

[83J 


8 4 


Miss Mischief. 


never met in Berlin. I earnestly implore you to 
keep on good terms with him, for, remember, you 
are, neither of you, children any longer. God bless 
you, my heart’s treasure ! Always looking upon 
you in the light of a son, believe me to be, as ever, 
your loving aunt. 

“ Fredrika Trautmann.” 

And Julia wrote also : 

“ Dear Fred: I send you eight dollars that I 
have saved up. Please, please, though, do not write 
to aunt so soon again for money ; she has, 1 believe, 
grave cares. It grieves me sorely to find from your 
letter to me, just received, that you are not making 
ends meet. Had you not better have become an 
engineer or man of business, as aunt wished, than an 
officer? But, I suppose, there is no help for that 
now. Aunt looks perfectly miserable. Do not let 
her know that I have sent you money. I earned it 
myself, secretly. I wanted so much to take paint- 
ing lessons with it, but feel that it is well spent in 
helping you out of your difficulties. I thank you, 
too, for your congratulations, and am, as ever, 

“ Faithfully your sister, 

“ Julia .’ 1 

And these two letters, together with a money- 
order, were brought by a valet to his master in 
Berlin, who was still in bed, one Sunday morning 
toward ten o’clock. The cross look upon the young 
lieutenant’s countenance smoothed down a little 


Dreams. 


*5 


when he heard the clinking of the gold that the post- 
man in the next room (an elegant little parlor) now 
counted out upon the table, which still bore the 
remains of a fine supper. 

“ Well, thanks be ! It is little enough, to be sure,” 
murmured he. 

The letters he passed by for the present, neither 
of them interesting him. In general, he hated 
so-called family letters. His old aunt’s endearments 
bored him ; and his sister — Good gracious, what 
coarse paper she used ! What could she want? He 
always thought of this sister with a mixture of pity 
and dread. Pity, because she had passed such an 
unhappy youth, and dread, because if, perchance, no 
husband should be found for her, some day she 
might become a burden to him. What did this girl 
come into the world for, anyhow? So far, her 
existence had been as useless as possible. 

He remembered distinctly the day when the little 
thing was born, and that life in his father’s house 
was more wretched than usual the same luckless 
day. And now — now the old woman at home was 
only so cursedly stingy because this same sister 
must needs be provided for. Well, he would have 
to go home at Easter after all. It was no use ; he 
could not forever escape paying this visit. For 
that matter, the idea had nothing so repulsive in it, 
for an Easter on the Rhine has it attractions, and, of 
course, the women could not expect him to spend 
the livelong day sitting in the garden with them. 
Their house was only a few hundred yards from the 


86 


Miss Mischief. 


steamboat landing, and, once one is on the deck, 
then — good-bye ennui ! 

Thus pondering, he dispatched his breakfast ; 
then he wrote to a comrade that he thought he 
should accept the invitation to that jolly little sup- 
per in the evening when the theatre was out. 
Furthermore, he commissioned his valet to see to 
getting a certain kind of chocolate candy, the 
favorite bonbon of a certain lady, as well as a bunch 
of pink roses and lilies-of-the-valley, the pet flowers 
of another lady-acquaintance. 

But, on Easter Eve, Aunt Rika, with tears of joy, 
folded her “ dear boy ” in her arms, and put the 
blame of his bloodshot eyes and pale complexion 
upon the hard work that his duty entailed and upon 
the unhealthy climate of Berlin. She had his favor- 
ite dishes prepared and the last bottle of Marko- 
brunner brought up from the cellar; and Julia had 
set the table down in the garden, decorating it with 
a fragrant bunch of Easter lilies. 

She was so happy ! Her brother had gazed upon 
her in astonishment, when she came to meet him 
with cheeks slightly flushed, and glorious dark eyes, 
whose luster was so much more effective from her 
habit of keeping them vailed ordinarily under their 
lashes. And, then, what red lips she had and pearly 
teeth ! He had never known before that her teeth 
were so fine ! But then, in those days, he had 
never seen her smile ; and now she smiled as happy 
people, reminded of something strange, sweet and 
beautiful, do. 

“ How do you do, Fred V 


Dreams . 


87 


It sounded so sweet. He could not understand 
how shy, little, much-abused Miss Mischief could 
have turned out such a splendid girl as this, and he 
remembered the many sly pinches and blows that he 
had given her, and never one good word. 

At all events she bore him no grudge, having 
cared for his comfort with all the solicitude of a 
true sister. She was happy, and happy people can- 
not be otherwise than good-natured. And with how 
little was she happy ! How meager were her 
pleasures ! He had no idea what a satisfying thing 
love is to a young girl. When she rose, early in the 
morning, to put the rooms in order, it was so 
delightful to listen, over the banisters, and hear 
Fritz’s step as he passed through the echoing hall 
on his way to the Rhine across the garden. It was 
so nice to meet him in the garden a few hours later, 
and get from him a grave but kindly greeting. Not 
once had they shaken hands even. And why should 
they? Julia understood him. As yet, he was a 
poor doctor without a practice. How could he 
court her, then, he had once remarked quite cor- 
rectly, to his mother, as they two were sitting in the 
arbor, and she, Julia, passed by, going to the vege- 
table-beds. 

“ You must observe, mother, that, first of all, I 
must establish myself, as a physician, on a firm foot- 
ing. For the present, do not urge anything else on 
me. There is a time for everything, marriage along 
with the rest.” 

And there was aunt ! Never in all her life had 
that stern woman been so gracious toward Julia as 


88 


Miss Mischief. 


during this glorious spring. Of an evening, she 
would come under her window, and call to Julia to 
come down and sit in the arbor ; and then how the 
girl would fly down-stairs with her work-basket. 
For once, it had even happened, that Minna had 
relieved the much persecuted child of the mountain 
of stockings to be darned, so that the young people, 
the doctor, Theresa and Julia, might row across to 
the island. And how delightful had been that 
excursion ! The doctor had sung — Theresa kept 
entreating him to go on — one song after another, 
now sad, then gay, until, finally, he closed with one 
that said : 

“ Where a rose-bush grows 
Where a curtain blows. 

Where, near the shore, boats 
Ready lie ; 

Where two brown eyes gleam 
Gazing o’er the stream 
Oh ! There would I fly, 

Gladly fly !” 

Yes, did not a rose-bush stand in front of her 
window, and was not its light curtain always 
fluttering in the breezes of this lush spring-time, 
and were not her eyes brown ? Thus she sat, 
dreaming to herself, letting the water glide through 
her fingers, and not observing the coquettish glances 
cast upon the singer by a pair of lustrous blue eyes. 

Theresa Krautner was a pretty and very stylish 
young woman. Her father’s wealth was perceptible 
in every fold of her attire. Her figure was full and 
yet sufficiently delicate, a half-head shorter than 


Dreams. 


89 


Julia. Her small feet were charmingly shod, and 
her chubby little hands were faultlessly gloved. 
Her gowns were made up by Frankfort’s best 
tailor. She owned an elegantly furnished boudoir, 
hung with the richest tapestry, and a parrot and a 
pet dog, and reigned the undisputed mistress in her 
papa’s beautiful villa. In brief, Theresa was a spoiled 
child, whose only trouble was that her papa could 
not rid himself of the manners of the former brick- 
layer’s apprentice, who, forty years before, had 
entered a certain Thuringian village, bare-footed, 
with a knapsack hanging over his dusty smock- 
frock, and in time had become a master builder and 
contractor, and this so successfully, that gold-pieces 
fairly rained on him. “ That saying, ‘ He picks up 
gold like pebbles in the street,’ has been verified in 
me,” he was accustomed to say. “ When I first 
settled in that slow little town, no one would ever 
have dreamed that it was to become a great watering- 
place. And there is not a house in it, little or big, 
that I have not built.” 

Now, upon retiring from business, he had fixed 
his retreat in his old home, and it had assumed the 
shape of a magnificent villa. On an evening, he 
would sit at the common table of the neighboring 
inn, “Die Traube" on the identical spot where he 
had received the hardest knocks from his master, 
when a hod-carrier, for this inn had been built at 
that time. And so, where his cries of pain had once 
been heard, his least word was now listened to with 
respect when he had become a town-councilor and 
honorary citizen. He was very well satisfied with 


9 o 


Miss Mischief 


himself, as he had a perfect right to be, and, as was 
natural, also, was jolly and round. Since the death 
of his wife, he had spoiled beyond measure his only 
daughter. He used to declare, moreover, that his 
Theresa might marry whom she pleased, no matter 
how poor the man might be, provided he was not 
an officer ; that he could never agree to — never ! 
“ Rather see the girl hanged !” was usually his clos- 
ing remark. 

So far, the young lady had had no chance to be 
entrapped by any charmer in epaulets and gold lace, 
for at Andersheim there was nothing in the shape of 
a military man but the old counselor of the court of 
aids, who called himself on his visiting-cards : “ Lieu- 
tenant off duty,” and on the king’s birthday appeared 
in a uniform fashioned before the flood and a helmet 
that was as high and peaked as a church-steeple. 
While escaping this danger, Theresa had been 
courted by assessors, teachers, merchants ; but, so 
far, had refused to smile upon any, declaring that 
she was in no haste whatever to put herself under 
the yoke of matrimony, wanting first to enjoy her 
youth to the full. 

“ And right you are !” her admiring papa would 
exclaim, encouraging her spirit, with peals of 
laughter. 

And now Easter Eve was abroad over the land, 
and Julia had laid the cloth for tea under the nut- 
tree. In the effusiveness of her new-found joy, she 
had coaxed her aunts so successfully that, for the 
first time in many years, the inmates of the house 
sat together at one board. The young men had 


Dreams 


9i 


edged off as much as possible from one another; in 
fact, this bringing of the family into close quarters 
seemed, somehow, to fail to promote sociability. 
The elegant officer, in his light-gray undress uni- 
form, with faultlessly kept hair and beard, his slender 
white hands with long finger-nails, formed a striking 
contrast with the broad-shouldered young surgeon, 
who wore a neat but plain every-day suit and the 
old straw hat which his mother had gotten for him 
some holidays ago. On account of the heat, he had 
pushed it far back upon his head. Fritz was the 
typical merry Rhinelander, although this charming 
art of taking life easily and pleasantly only lay like 
a vail over the earnestness that constituted the sub- 
stantial part of his character. But the aversion that 
the two men felt for each other had remained the 
same. 

The talk turned upon politics. Mrs. Roettger 
.dabbled gladly in this, and prophesied year after 
year of the great war that was inevitable: 

“ It is coming this year! Look out! For I tell 
you things will come to a dreadful pass!’' 

Fred smiled contemptuously, and twirled his 
mustache by way of commentary upon a remark of 
the doctor’s; and ere any one realized the nature of 
the situation, an angry altercation was in progress 
between the two young men. Finally, the doctor 
became silent, and jestingly asked to be helped 
again to the delicious shad on the table, the avoid- 
ance of whose bones engrossed him to such a degree 
that he could no longer take part in the discussion. 
Hereupon his mother took up the cudgel that he 


92 


Miss Mischief. 


had laid aside. The lieutenant, who was nervously 
playing with his food, continued the argument with 
her, only more sharply, for the sight of the doctor 
eating away so calmly irritated him. Surely he 
seemed extraordinarily indifferent to the opinion of 
his old school-mate. 

“ I believe, aunt,” he snarled, “ that you are enter- 
ing upon a domain, where you are not exactly at 
home.” 

“ That, indeed ! Now it strikes thirteen o’ the 
clock !” cried the angered woman. “ The newly- 
hatched chicken, I presume, will undertake to dic- 
tate to me ! Your freshly acquired wisdom will 
not go down with me, my boy ; and the story of the 
egg that thought itself much wiser than the hen 
applies well to us. You understand, do you not?” 

“ Mother !” exclaimed her son, soothingly, seeing 
that she would talk on. 

But she had hushed already, and her angry red 
face had relaxed into the sweetest of smiles, for, 
coming up the path, she descried visitors, namely, 
Mr. Krautner followed by his daughter. In a thrice, 
ruffled spirits were calmed under the benign 
influence of the old gentleman’s hearty laugh and 
the sweet-toned “ good evening ” of the pretty girl. 
The plates were cleared away and dessert brought 
in. Aunt Minna, however, unhooked the bunch of 
keys from her girdle and sent her son into the wine- 
cellar, in order that Mr. Krautner might try the 
delicious sort of which she had spoken to him 
before — that had been the favorite wine of her 
sainted husband. 


Dreams. 


93 


Julia was just coming down-stairs with a pair of 
lanterns as Fritz came up again from the cellar. 
For one instant her steps were arrested. She looked 
around after him, but he only gave her a passing 
nod, and opened the kitchen-door. In the reddish 
light of the candle, she thought he looked out of 
sorts. She wondered if Fred had vexed him ? It 
was an unbearable thought to her. She waited 
until he returned from the kitchen with the bottle. 

“ Fritz,” she asked, with hesitation, “ are you 
angry with Fred?”” 

He looked up absent-mindedly, and his hand 
lightly touched her shoulder. 

“ No, my dear child,” he said. 

Then he had again vanished through the garden- 
gate. 

Thoughtful and disappointed, she followed him. 
If he had had only one minute to give to her! He 
had been so friendly, but so — so hurried and absent- 
minded. She went up to the table and arranged 
the lights upon it ; her seat was occupied by 
Theresa. She looked toward the other end of table, 
where the young doctor had sat a while ago. There 
Mr. Krautner had settled himself. Fritz sat at the 
upper end next to Theresa, and on her other side was 
Fred. No one thought of offering her a chair ; she 
must needs get one for herself. But when she 
reached the remote spot in the garden whence she 
was to procure it, she sat down where she was, gaz- 
ing fixedly, with longing eyes, over at the group 
beneath the chestnut-tree. 

“ I wonder if he will miss me ?” she asked herself, 


94 


Miss Mischief. 


her glowing eyes fastened upon the young man, 
who was blowing, in discreet little clouds before 
him, the smoke from a cigar, without taking part in 
the very animated conversation carried on between 
his fair neighbor and the lieutenant. 

He must have a consciousness of how she was 
looking at him, she told herself ; but her glances did 
not seem to be so potent as she fancied. The loud 
laughter of the old gentleman greeted her ears at 
regular intervals. Then Aunt Rika stood up and 
moved slowly toward the house. The place beside 
him was empty, yet Julia did not stir; she felt so 
tired that she could have cried. Then her heart 
beat tumultuously. He got up and came along the 
walk under the grape-vines, just to where she was 
seated. 

Breathless, she waited. 

“ One word only — a good word !” whispered her 
lips. 

But shortly before he came to her, he turned 
around, without having caught sight of her, and 
walked to the banks of the Rhine. There he stood 
still by the wall and gazed upon the dark waters. 
A steam-tug was working its way along against the 
current, the number of boats that it had in tow being 
reckoned by the lanterns at their prows. 

The doctor did not return to the company at 
table until his mother’s sharp voice rang out : 
“ Fritz ! Fritz ! Our neighbors want to go home ! ” 
when he turned, he and Theresa meeting very near 
to Julia’s place of retreat. 


Dreams. 


95 


‘’Where have you been hiding?” cried the young 
girl. 

“ Have you missed me ?” he asked softly, bending 
over her. 

She was silent, as if from embarrassment. 

“Good night, Miss Theresa,” was all he said, but 
their hands remained clasped for an instant ; but 
just then the lieutenant coming up, Fritz formally 
lifted his hat, and once more turned silently into 
the shaded walk. 

And Julia did her duty, gathering together the 
plates and glasses and folding up the table-cloth. 
She could hear Aunt Minna taking her son to task 
after her return from escorting their guests to the 
outer gate. 

“ If you were not such a full-grown man, I should 
really have to scold you. What in the world made 
you run away ? It is certainly true that soldiers 
get ahead of you students in such things!” 

“ In what things ?” 

“You know well enough, you sly fox !” said she, 
in a lower tone. “ So far as comparison goes, how- 
ever, you have no reason to fear such a — ” 

Julia turned away, and thus missed hearing the 
flattering designation applied by Aunt Minna to 
her brother. 

She slept sweetly, did poor Miss Mischief, in 
spite of her little heart being heavy with a dull 
sense of foreboding. However, she had recourse to 
her old means of finding rest — she buried her dark 
head in her pillow and, with closed eyes, lived over 
again those blissful moments up in the old garret- 


9 6 


Miss Mischief 


room. Ah, surely Fritz had only wandered out 
into the garden because she no longer sat at table ! 
Surely — yes. She was certain of it ! And hugging 
this sweet conviction to her bosom, she slept the 
deep, dreamless sleep of a young mortal weary 
from much work. 


HARK, JULIA! I DO BELIEVE THAT IS YOUK DOCTOR !” — See Chapter V. 


































































































. 

' 


■ 

































CHAPTER VII. 

AN IDYL: THEN DISILLUSION. 

It did not occur to the lieutenant to undertake 
the Easter excursion, of which he had spoken, and 
so his sister had now to forego her church-going 
and stand over the fire, cooking, for, according to 
Aunt Rika, a Prussian lieutenant at home on his 
Easter furlough could not be put off with a plain 
omelet for his dinner. 

Julia submitted without a sigh. All people could 
not take a holiday, she said to herself. Fritz was 
gone, too, on professional duty, for he had four 
patients already! With what eager interest the 
young girl listened for the ringingof the new front- 
door bell, that had been put up for the young sur- 
geon, and as befitted such a genuine messenger of 
evil it had a sharp, shrill tone. He had set off early 
in the morning, and Julia had ascertained that his 
uncle had taken him for a consultation into the 
country, in his own carriage. 

Toward noon, her brother, dressed in uniform, 
with his saber clanking, had gone down-stairs, and 

[ 97 ] 


9 8 


Miss Mischief 


crossed the front Jhall on his way to pay a visit at 
Mr. Krautner’s. To be sure he soon came back, for 
Papa Krautner was already seated at the dinner- 
table, although the clock had just struck twelve ; 
and the maid had asserted very positively that the 
gentleman never allowed himself to be disturbed at 
meal-times. Suddenly another idea struck him. 
He stepped into the neat little kitchen where his 
sister was at work, and asked what she was going to 
do with herself the livelong day. 

“ I shall sit in the garden with my books,’' was 
her answer. 

“ With your books?” 

“ Yes, I love dearly to read.” 

“ But it is horribly tiresome ! Is there not a 
single young girl with whom you can associate?” 
asked he. 

“ Oh, yes. Theresa comes sometimes ; it may be 
that she will pay me a visit to-day. She does not 
like to be in the crowd at Easter, either, and she is 
almost always over here of a Sunday.” 

“Yes, and she is right, too; I do not care for 
crowds either,” said he. “ How would it do then, 
Julia, if we took refuge in utter solitude, and I 
should row you across to the meadow?” 

“That would be nice 'of you!’’ said his sister. 
“ Nobody is over there, I know. Do not forget to 
invite Fritz, Fred,” she said, looking another way, 
for she felt that she was blushing. 

He seemed not to hear, and made haste to escape 
from the vapors of the kitchen. Arrived in his own 


An Idyl : Then Disillusion . 


99 


room, he threw himself on the sofa and spun golden 
cobwebs of the future. 

In the afternoon, he rowed the two girls over to 
the meadow. The whole air was sweet with the 
breath of lilacs, the ships carried gay-colored flags, 
and the river was alive with boats filled with people 
in holiday attire. The meadow was deserted, for 
there was no public-house near. 

The young officer chained the boat to an over- 
hanging tree, and the three struck into a grass-grown 
path that led to the western end of the island, 
where, as the lieutenant maintained, was the most 
glorious spot for Theresa’s hammock and the finest 
prospect. Julia followed, her pale, earnest counten- 
ance bearing the impress of disillusion. Fritz had 
not joined their party — indeed, had not come home. 
She paid no heed to the unwonted garrulity of her 
brother, who robbed a wild apple-tree of its blos- 
soms to furnish a bouquet for Theresa. 

However, the spot that he had selected was, 
indeed, beautiful ; and as Theresa swung in her low 
hammock, her white gown fluttering about her like 
a cloud, while the lieutenant spread his handkerchief 
on the grass and lolled beside her, Julia took up her 
book and devoted herself to it with such assiduity 
that she soon became oblivious of the outer world. 
The chatting and laughter of the pair, the gentle 
murmuring of the water chimed in so well with the 
story of the lovely, fair-haired lady in her castle on 
the Rhine and with her secret love for the poet 
Hadlaub in Keller’s charming novel, that she took 


IOO 


Miss Mischief 


no note of the flight of time, and did not observe 
that the conversation of her companions grew lower 
and lower, until finally pauses ensued, long pauses, 
only broken by a song in the distance ora sigh close 
by or the splashing of the water against the beach. 

And the sunbeams scattered their rays through 
the branches of the old elm-tree, deep, golden rays, 
for evening was at hand. Then the skies glowed 
with the flames of a gorgeous sunset, the grand old 
river crimsoned by their reflection ; and suddenly 
the cheeks of the fair girl were tinted with the same 
bright hue, as she sat upright in her hammock, with 
her head half averted from the man at her feet, at 
the same time that she permitted him to hold her 
hand, which he kissed again and again. 

“ But so quickly — 1 know not how to answer you,” 
said she, falteringly ; and yet a smile of rapture 
played about her pretty mouth. 

“ When one feels as strongly as I do, there is no 
such thing as hesitation. I love swift resolves, and 
always know directly what I want and what I must 
have. I know that I love you, Theresa, knew it 
the very first second that our glances met.” 

In a frightened way she drew her hand out of his, 
for Julia had got up and gone past them to the shore. 

“There he comes,” said she to herself, with her 
eyes fixed upon a boat that was advancing rapidly 
across the shining water. 

The two young people behind her looked at each 
other. Theresa laid her slender fingers upon her 
lips, and once more he seized her hand, which he 


An Idyl : Then Disillusion. 


IOI 


was conscious slightly returned his pressure. Then 
he, too, jumped to his feet. 

“ Good evening," said he, calmly, welcoming the 
young doctor, “ you are just in time to mix our 
punch. Julia, unpack your lunch-basket!" 

“ Well, here 1 am at last!" exclaimed the doctor, 
cheerily. “ When I was setting out to join you, a 
full hour ago — for mother told me where to find 
you — a poor wretch came in with a bloody head, 
and I had to sew up the gash. How do you do, 
Miss Theresa ?" And he seated himself by that 
young lady’s side and threw his hat upon a blooming 
bush near by. “ Is it not a glorious evening ?’’ he 
added. 

And then he looked up at Theresa, who, in the 
roseate light by which she was environed, appeared 
as fresh as the apple blossoms that she wore in her 
belt. 

“ You have hair like the Lorelei herself," said he, 
in genuine admiration. “ Nothing is lacking but the 
golden comb. Julia, are you mixing that punch ? 
All right ; I am too tired myself, not having had 
holiday like the rest of you." 

They all enjoyed themselves very much at that 
little picnic, being as merry as young people can be, 
more especially young people on the Rhine, who 
have golden wine in their glasses and secret love in 
their hearts. Theresa’s silver laugh was echoed 
incessantly by the doctor’s deeper tones. The 
lieutenant laughed only now and then, while occa'- 
sionally he would heave a sigh, and glance toward 
the witching Lorelei, quoting the lines : 


102 


Miss Mischief . 


“ Of the Rhine, my son, beware, I say, 

He meets his fate, who goes that way.'' 

And again he sighed. 

Julia alone was silent. She sat upon a log gazing 
upon the heavens, whence the red was fast fading. 
She had clasped her hands around one knee, and 
her beautiful profile was sharply defined against the 
bright background. But, although she took no part 
in the exuberant gayety of the others, she was, per- 
haps, the happiest of them all, for her trust was as 
immovable as her love. 

Next morning, while the dew was still glistening 
on the grass, the young officer actually came from 
the garden. Julia could hardly trust the evidence 
of her own eyes. And directly afterward he 
whistled so merrily in his own room that a look of 
amazement crossed her grave countenance. And 
again he declined the proposed trip on the Rhine, 
but donned his uniform and crossed the yard with 
his sword clattering at his heels. Mrs. Roettger, 
who had just come from church, stopped in the 
street to look after him until he disappeared behind 
the wrought- iron gate marking the entrance to the 
Krautners’ property. 

The resolute woman suddenly experienced a 
qualm of apprehension. Oh, dear ! If by any 
chance — But, no ; he could not possibly thus take 
by storm the citadel over yonder ! He was bold 
enough to make the attempt, for the boy always had 
a vast deal of assurance. Theresa is not to be 
caught in that net ! He was a handsome man, too, 


An Idyl : Then Disillusion . 


103 


although, in her opinion, not to be compared to 
Fritz. 

“ I tell you, thought, I am curious!” 

With these words, Mrs. Roettger seated herself at 
her window and waited for the officer’s return. She 
had long to wait, and when he finally did come, she 
could make nothing out of his deportment. He 
clanked his sword more noisily, if possible, than he 
had done before, and his usually pale face was 
flushed ; whether from joy or disappointment, 
though, she could not fathom. 

It was not long before his lordly voice resounded, 
calling : 

“ Julia! Julia!” 

The young girl rushed, terrified, into her brother’s 
room. She had been closeted with her aunt, con- 
sulting with her over the afflicting fact that the 
month’s income would not suffice for their present 
large expenditures, and many a little thrust she had 
patiently submitted to the while. 

“ Here I am, Freddie ! Do tell me what is the 
matter ?” 

He had jerked off his coat and was pacing the 
room like one in despair. 

“Can you hold your tongue, girl?” he finally 
asked 

“ I do not understand you. If you want to confide 
anything to me, of course, 1 shall not speak of it.” 

“ You must help me !” he demanded. “Do you 
understand ?” 

“ Always, if it is in my power, Fred.” 


104 


Miss Mischief. 


“ The thing has taken a cursed turn,” continued 
he, speaking lower. “ Theresa and I — ” 

u Theresa and— you ?” 

“ Yes, Theresa and I engaged ourselves early this 
morning. Do not stare so. You do not know how 
silly you looked then. Has such a thing never hap- 
pened before, as that a young lieutenant and a 
pretty girl became engaged ?” 

“Oh, dear!” stammered the girl. “But I am 
glad.” 

“Yes, so far so good. But, lo and behold, just 
now, when I went to that old Philistine to get his 
consent, he gave thanks for the honor, but — and — 
Well, the long and short of it is, he refused my offer, 
and in such a way !” 

“ How about Theresa, though ?” she asked. 

“ I have not had a glimpse of her since. I assured 
the old donkey that Theresa would not resign me. 
Hereupon he smiled self-complacently, spreading 
his hands over his stomach and tapping it with the 
right forefinger, upon which shines a big seal-ring, 
assuring me that I need not distress myself lest she 
should not 4 obey orders ’ and 4 listen to reason.’ A 
dreadful creature is that man ! To think of his 
being one of us ! It sickens one to the soul !” 

“ Poor Theresa ! And so she loves you?” 

“ Such a question ! As if there was any doubt of 
it! But now I want to send her a message — a bit of 
comfort you understand ? You must go over there. 
The old man takes a nap after dinner. Tell her I 
must speak with her once more, and I’ll remain true 
to her for all eternity. And her father must be 


An Idyl : Then Disillusion. 105 


made to give in, for she is his darling, his only 
child.” 

As if exhausted, the young officer threw himself 
back in one corner of the sofa, all the tortures of dis- 
illusion being painted upon his livid features. Sud- 
denly, his fist came down hard upon the table. 

“ And all would have been well ! All !” he mur- 
mured. 

“ I’ll fix it with Theresa. You make me feel 
sorry,” said Julia, compassionately. “ I think, too, 
if you both continue steadfast, her father must yield 
finally. He loves Theresa very dearly.” 

That was truly a sad day. At dinner, Aunt Rika, 
all of a sudden, without minding the presence of 
Julia, whom she had always been in the habit of 
sending out of the room when she talked business 
with her brother, began, in a husky voice, to explain 
to her foster-son that she was very sorry not to be 
able any longer to give him as large an addition to 
his income as she had hitherto done. She brought 
this out with downcast eyes, as though she were 
ashamed to confess her reduced circumstances. 

He laughed a hard, bitter laugh, and drank off his 
wine-glass at a single swallow. 

“ An evil hour!” he then exclaimed, throwing his 
napkin upon the table, done up into a ball, and 
slamming the door behind him. 

Rika Trautmann wiped a tear from her eyes. 

“ Aunt,” said Julia, laying her hand tenderly and 
shyly upon the old maid’s trembling, transparent 
right hand — “ aunt, do not be cast down ; we’ll 
manage so as to bring all right. Let us sell the 


io6 


Miss Mischief. 


house ; shall we not ? And then you’ll be quite 
rich, and we ’ll rent neat little lodgings, with an 
outlook upon the Rhine, and I’ll make you so snug, 
so snug, that you ’ll never miss this old house, 
which has never been anything but a burden to 
you.” 

But her hand was violently thrust aside. 

“ How can you know what it means to have a 
house of your own ? There cannot be a trace of 
reverence in you, else you could not talk as if it 
were as easy to sell one’s home as to butter a slice 
of bread.” 

Julia looked at her mournfully. 

“ Ah, if you only had an idea of how I love this 
house!” she wanted to say. But she was silent. 
They were both silent. 

When the young girl had gone out with the dinner 
things, the one left behind pressed her hands to her 
eyes, and the tears gushed through her fingers. She 
felt the impulse to run after the child and beg her 
pardon for being so harsh with her, but could not 
bring herself to do it. But soon afterward, Julia 
slipped through the gate opening upon the Rhine 
from their garden, and found herself in the Krautner 
grounds. Unseen, she got into the house and 
through the garden-hall, which was furnished almost 
too richly with East-lndia matting, bamboo furniture 
and Japanese fans, and thence into her friend’s bou- 
doir. The Venetian blinds of the ample windows 
were lowered ; the light pervading the whole room 
was subdued ; and quite an overpowering odor of 
eau de Cologne and some sweet exotic perfume that 


An Idyl : Then Disillusion . 


107 


the young girl liked for her toilet-table filled the 
spaces. 

The light-blue, rose-flowered furniture, framed in 
gilt, was set about in most disorderly array. In 
front of the fireplace lay the fragments of a porcelain 
statuette, and upon a lounge cowered Theresa Kraut- 
ner, the victim of her cruel father. There she lay, 
with dry, defiant eyes, in a charming but tumbled 
white wrapper, waving a broken fan. When she 
caught sight of her friend, who approached her 
couch with almost solemn gravity, she turned her 
head aside and began to cry. 

“ Poor Theresa!” And the girl’s pale face bent 
over her despairing friend. “ Ah, it must be hard ! 
But take courage. Fred sends his love and says he 
will remain true to you. He has just sent me over 
to tell you not to be faint-hearted. True love can 
overcome all obstacles, and there have been hard- 
hearted fathers before this one, Theresa.” 

“Eh! Eh! Eh!” sounded from behind her. 
u ‘ Hard-hearted,’ do you say, little miss?” And 
Councilor Krautner, who had come in unperceived, 
stood with his hands crossed over his fat paunch, 
his full-moon face in a broad grin, just in rear of the 
affrighted girl. “I am no hard-hearted father,” said 
he, stroking Julia’s cheek with the back of his hand. 
“ I am only an experienced man, who has no idea of 
allowing his deluded child to rush into misery. Yes, 
into misery, I tell you, dear heart. But you are not 
expected to understand this, because you two are at 
the silliest of all ages.” 

“Dear Mr. Krautner ’’—Julia had uplifted both 


io8 


Miss Mischief. 


hands — “ but if they do love each other so much — 
so very much !” 

“ I do not believe them, for my part/' he said. 
“ And he is not going to die of it, neither is she. I 
know her better. And now, Theresa, I desire that 
this whimpering cease. Do you understand ?” 

The young girl had straightened herself up. 

“ I would have you to know, papa,” cried she, 
with wrathful eyes, “ I ’ll never give him up ! 
Never! Never!” 

“ Well, well, talk more about that by and by,” 
was his rejoinder. 

“ And if you think that I shall forget him in time, 
then — ” 

“ Yes, I do think so, little daughter.” 

“ Then you are mistaken ; and here, in presence 
of Julia, I declare to you that if in a year from 
to-day you have not given up your opposition to this 
engagement, then — ” 

“ I shall take another,” said he, finishing her 
sentence for her. 

“We shall see,” said she. 

“ Yes, we shall see ; you are right. And now you 
can have your heart’s desire in everything but 
one ; I have sworn against having a military man 
for a son-in-law, and shall not swerve. Why so? 
That is all one to you. So, no soldier for you in 
general and not this one in particular. No unkind- 
ness meant, either, little neighbor,” said he, turning 
to Julia; “but if a perfect stranger rushes in 
to take me by storm and wants my all ; if Theresa, 
there, is so silly as to let herself be blinded in a 


An Idyl : Then Disillusion. 


109 


quarter of an hour, I am not. A clear head! That 
is the word at my house. Alois Krautner always 
has a clear head, otherwise he would never have 
gotten on as far as he has. Your most obedient 
servant.” 

“You never loved, father; that is the matter,” 
said his daughter, with her lip quivering contempt- 
uously. 

“ I ? I wonder if I never did ! I did with my 
senses about me, saucy minx ! And hard did it go 
with me before I stood before her father and said : 

‘ Give me your Hannah and your blessing. I am 
able to support a family. I can provide for a wife, 
and more besides.’ There’s the rub; note that. 
And now I have said my last word. Enough of 
that now, and no harm meant.” 

He went, closing the door after him, and they 
could hear his whistling from the outside. The 
tune was “ Der Alte Dessauer,” which he only whis- 
tled when something excited him very much. Even 
when his idolized Hannah died, with the big tears 
roiling down his cheeks, he had gone up and down 
the room, whistling as he walked : “ So We Live !” 

“ There, you see what a sad life I have of it,” 
said the pretty girl, bitterly, stroking back her dis- 
arranged curls from her forehead. “ Comprehen- 
sion, you see, and the finer sensibilities, he does not 
have. And do you know, Julia, when I tried to 
touch him by telling him that we had already 
mapped out our future life so beautifully, and that 
he had planned to show me Rome, his glorious 
birth-place, on our wedding-trip, he laughed as if I 


no 


Miss Mischief 


had said the most absurd thing, and asked if we had 
already bought our Baedeker. To get so far, upon 
a two-day acquaintance, he deemed a thing impos- 
sible. He said that he and mamma, too, had once 
upon a time spent some days at Rome in a certain 
hotel, where they would have gotten along finely if 
they had had a stove and plenty of insect-powder. 
Oh, me ! How can any one ridicule the most 
sacred things ! But you, Julia, you must help us !” 
exclaimed she, jumping up. “ If papa remains so 
obstinate, then we ’ll run off — yes, I vow I shall. 
Say to Lieutenant Adami — ” She stopped suddenly, 
for the thought suggested itself that she would 
make the proposal to the lieutenant herself. “ At 
least,” continued she, in a low tone, tugging at her 
handkerchief, “ at least, you must be the bearer of 
our letters and help us to see each other again, dear 
Julia.” 

Julia did not answer ; she looked straight before 
her, a little dark fold between her beautifully 
arched eyebrows. 

“Do you hear?” cried Theresa, impatiently. 
“ You are to help us. I want to speak to him again 
this very evening. You have your little garret- 
room — your studio. Nobody will search for us 
there, and you must tell your aunt that it is — ” 

“No!” came shortly and hardly from Julia’s lips. 

“ What ! You will not help your own brother — 
nor me, your only friend ?” cried Theresa, who was 
arranging her front bangs before the mirror and 
pressing to her eyes a cloth dipped in cold water. 

“ No, Theresa, for the very reason that he is my 


An Idyl: Then Disillusion . 


1 1 1 


brother. I shall not do anything to encourage the 
impression that he is wooing you out of selfish 
motives, and — I think you had better depend upon 
3'ourselves. True love always hits its mark.” 

“ Are you a simpleton ?” burst from the enraged 
girl “ How am I to help myself alone ? Do you 
not yet know my father ! No letter comes into 
this house, save in a locked portfolio, and from this 
hour on, he’ll dog my every step, and — ” 

“ You will certainly not help yourselves by a 
secret correspondence, behind his back. I would not 
think of it,” answered Julia. “ Prove to your father 
that your love is strong and true, and he will then 
be softened ; and in the end, if Fred loves you so 
devotedly, he will for love of you, become something 
else than an officer — he is still young — if your 
father’s only objection is that he will not give you 
to an officer. I would persuade my brother to take 
this step.” 

“ Very gracious!” sounded back in a mocking 
and irritated tone. “ I think on the other hand, 
that he was just made for an officer, and he shall not 
unbuckle his sword on my account !” 

“ You would not stickle so for rank if you really 
loved him so dearly,” cried Julia, indignantly. “ Do 
you love the coat or the man?” 

Theresa made no reply. 

“ It he could become a land-owner, for example,” 
urged Julia. 

“ Please,” said Theresa, fretfully “ spare your 
counsels, which show how very little you know of 
practical affairs. You had better go to him and tell 


112 


Miss Mischief. 


him that 1 want to talk with him once more, and 
nobody shall hinder me from it. But, no — you can 
let it alone — you put on such a face, one would 
think I was tempting- you to commit a robbery. You 
need not be afraid that I will call upon you ! No, 
indeed, I have only one more request to make of 
you : You must just dismiss the whole affair from 
your mind. Give me your hand upon it ! I mean to 
depend upon myself alone. There, now! Say three 
times, on your word of honor, that you will not 
betray me to a living creature.” 

Julia proffered her hand, but spoke not a word. 
And Theresa paid no more heed to her friend’s grave 
face. 

She seated herself at a table and wrote with flying 
pen a few words upon a sheet of pale-lilac note-paper 
inscribed with a gold monogram. 

“Good-bye,” murmured Julia, with troubled 
countenance, passing through the garden on her 
way home. 

Under the nut-tree stood her brother, looking 
even paler and more nervous than he had before. 

“Well?” asked be, impatiently. “You have 
stayed an eternity, while I have been left here 
stretched upon the rack. What did she say ?” 

“ She will be true to you, Fred — but — ” 

“ But?” 

“ But her father will never give his consent.” 

He drew a breath of relief. 

“ If she only will,” said he, softly. 

He did not thank his sister once ; hurriedly he ran 
up to his own room, and wrote a note to Moses 


An Idyl: Then Disillusion. 113 


Aronsohn, Berlin, to the effect that the said gentle- 
man had better have patience a while longer; for 
he was as good as sure of making a rich match, 
nothing standing in the way but the father’s oppo- 
sition. If, however, Mr. Aronsohn should make any 
attempt to disgrace him before the regiment, this 
marriage would be imperiled, and he would get 
nothing, since his aunt had lost all her property. 
Then he signed himself : “ Yours most obediently,” 
etc., etc. 

He carried the letter himself to the post-office and 
returned with a lighter heart than he had had for 
many a day. When he was nearly at home, a pretty 
servant-girl who slowly passed him slipped a little 
pale-lilac note into his hand. Theresa asked him to 
meet her in the old arbor of their garden at nine 
o’clock, when her father would be at the inn called 
Die Traube. 

When Julia had already been asleep, toward eleven 
o’clock, she was startled by a rattling at her window. 
She knew her brother’s habit in earlier days had 
been to throw pebbles against her window-panes if 
he found the house locked up. She dressed herself 
quickly and slipped down-stairs to open the house- 
door, the key to which was always left in the lock 
on the inside. In came Fred. 

“ Why, I do declare, you go to roost with the 
chickens!” mocked he, stepping softly upstairs, 
humming a melody as he went. “ Good night!” he 
whispered pleasantly, in the dark hall at the top, as 
he held his sister fast by her sleeve. “Theresa is a 
darling, I tell you ; and my girl, when the wedding 


Miss Mischief 


1 14 


comes off, I ’ll give you a party-dress, as sure as you 
are born ! And now, be good and kind to my little 
intended, and do not act the censor toward us. If 
ever you fall in love yourself, you will comprehend 
how one cannot agree to bend the knee before such 
an old tyrant as the one yonder, and that there is a 
sweetness in what is secret. But I believe an icicle 
like you can form no conception of a lover’s feel- 
ings.” 

“ Good night !” said she, and in her evening 
prayer she had one more request to proffer to the 
Father of us all. She besought him to bring these 
two together, to give them power to overcome all 
difficulties, and to incline the father to indulgence. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

THE NIGHT OF THE BALL. 

Minna Roettger’s face had never shone so from 
inward satisfaction as it did this inauspicious season 
of late autumn. While she usually sighed in prospect 
of winter’s approach, this year she rejoiced over every 
withered leaf that the wind took from the trees. 
For, in part, she had to thank these everlasting 
showers and storms for the sunshine of her soul. 

The oldest people in the town could hardly 
remember ever having encountered such a disagree- 
able fall. Grippe and rheumatism were in full 
swing, and children’s diseases became epidemic; 
the young doctor’s bell was being pulled the whole 
day through and, with important mien, his mother 
noted down upon the slate hanging at her son’s 
room-door the names of those seeking advice. 

As though she had the most delightful news to 
communicate, she stepped forward to meet her son 
Fritz when he got home, weary and wet, in order to 
inform him that he must make haste, because, most 
likely, Superintendent Lindemann had a stroke of 

Cn5] 


Miss Mischief. 


1 16 


apoplexy, and the school-teacher's children had, 
one and all, been luckily gotten to bed with every 
sign of scarlet-fever, and Cobbler Martin’s old 
mother had another sharp attack of heart-trouble. 

“ It cannot go on so,” declared the young phy- 
sician, one day, as, in consequence of Doctor 
Kortum’s sickness, summonses grew and grew. 
“ There must be a stop put to this ! I cannot hold 
out to attend to all Doctor Kortum’s practice as well 
as my own, especially if 1 have to pay a visit to every 
one who has merely a swollen jaw or finger-ache. I 
shall have regular office-hours, requiring patients 
who are not bed-ridden to come to me.” 

“ That will be well,” assented his mother. “ Yes, 
Fritz, would you ever have thought that you could 
walk so speedily into the finest practice in the 
place ?” 

“ Well, that "comes from the charm of novelty,” 
he answered evasively, going into his room to com- 
pose an advertisement for the weekly paper that 
should let the inhabitants of Andersheim know that 
Doctor Roettger’s office-hours were from eight to 
nine A. M. and from three to four p. M. On Sundays 
and Wednesdays, from nine until ten, his services 
would be given gratis to patients unable to pay fees. 

Now, every morning and afternoon, Minna sat at 
the window, behind the curtains of her sitting-room, 
counting those who, weary and worn, came to her 
Fritz for relief. 

And, verily, a multitude of patients crossed over 
the old yard into the open front-door to ask advice 
— patients from the first families in the place. 


The Night of the Ball. 


1 1 7 


Mothers came with their young daughters, and the 
young wives of rich manufacturers came with their 
children ; for Fritz had acquired the reputation of 
being skilled in the treatment of the very young ; and 
even the beautiful and mysterious widow who was 
said to be from Russia, fairly smothered in her long, 
black-crape vail, made her appearance one day, and 
Minna shrank almost with terror before the dazzling 
beauty of her marble-like features. 

“God shield him,” said she to herself, “ lest he fall 
in love with such a one who has nothing and is noth- 
ing.” 

It would have been the delight of her heart, if she 
could have taken her staion over in the reception- 
room during office-hours, but this she did not 
venture upon, even when her best friend, the burgo- 
master’s wife, appeared, followed by her cook, who 
had a bad finger. But, one day, her son gave her 
the desire of her heart. 

“ Mother,” said he, “ I wish you would occasion- 
ally contrive to have something to do in the recep- 
tion-room during office-hours. In the first place, the 
people will be under some restraint, and not cause 
one another, mentally, spasms of pain with their 
tales of horrible sicknesses ; and, in the second 
place, the precious ignoramuses will not undertake, 
in your presence, to renew their attacks upon my 
microscope and other apparatus.” 

The very next morning, Minna decked herself 
out in her best cap and good black-stuff gown, tied 
on her silk apron and presided in her son’s ante- 
room with a face flushed from pride. Alas ! she 


Miss Mischief. 


1 18 


performed the task with her vaunted candor and 
energy. Young Mrs. Amtmann, who, in reply to 
Minna’s questions, hesitatingly admitted that she 
coughed a great deal, received the consolation that 
her two older sisters had begun to cough at her age, 
and had died soon afterward of consumption. 

“ And, if I had been your mother, young lady, I 
should never have allowed you to marry,” con- 
cluded the worthy woman, “ but would have 
bundled you up, bag and baggage, and carried you 
to the South.” 

Tears rushed into the poor little woman’s eyes. 
She loved life, she loved her husband and her 
bouncing baby-boy; and when she afterward took 
her seat before the young doctor, her slender frame 
shook with a convulsive sob ; and Fritz gradually 
drew from her the nature of the comfort that his 
mother had dispensed to her. And he was just 
about to examine the patient, who had become 
somewhat quieted down, when a child shrieked so 
piteously in the ante-room that he rushed out in dis- 
may. 

There he found his mother holding on her lap the 
five-year-old boy of a railroad man, who, with pale, 
distorted countenance, was struggling to get down, 
uttering one piercing yell after the other. 

“ Dear me, mother, what is the matter ?” he 
asked. 

“ The silly boy must needs show me his sore 
finger. And then, just out of fun, I told him that 
presently you would cut up his stomach with a 


The Night of the Ball. 


1 1 9 


great long knife, because it all came of eating too 
many cherries,” she pettishly reported. 

The doctor shook his head and had trouble in 
soothing the little fellow. But Minna assumed an 
injured air, because of the sign of displeasure given 
her, and said something about “ silly boy,” and van- 
ished. 

Toward evening, she had already forgotten her 
discomfiture of the morning. She moved to and fro 
in her son’s room, where she laid out an especially 
fine plaited shirt, besides his dress-suit brushed by 
her own hand. She wanted to appear with him in 
style to-night, for the first Casino ball was to take 
place. The old lady herself still wore the company- 
cap, fastened to her gray hair by large gold pins 
that she had worn in the morning. 

“ I hope nobody will call you off this evening,” 
she said. “ To be sure, it looks something like it 
when you hurry off so from the dinner-table. But 
I should hate to spoil my boots so in this dreadful 
rainy weather.” 

He did not seem to be in the rosiest of moods, 
and answered quite abstractedly, as he threw him- 
self wearily on the sofa. But his mother took 
advantage of the time that remained to her before 
she must dress for the ball to justify herself for 
what she had done in the morning, while she 
poured out a cup of coffee for her Fritz. 

“ I always took little Mrs. Amtmann for a goose, 
but not such a big one as that. Such a hullabaloo ! 
As if it were fresh news to her that her sisters had 
died of consumption !” 


120 


Miss Mischief. 


“ But we do not remind patients of things of that 
sort.” 

“ Is that so?” cried she, standing akimbo in front 
of her son. “ Why, you would not make her believe, 
I hope, that she had a hundred years to live ?” 

“ No, mother, but it stands to reason that patients 
must neither be alarmed nor agitated by such tales.” 

“Well, I am of a different opinion. Let her be 
distressed so that she will take care of herself! 
Observe, please, she is not going to tease her hus- 
band this year to take her out to balls and — ” 

“You would make a distinguished doctor, 
mother,” he exclaimed, with merriment that was 
rather forced. “ But now it is time that you were 
dressing, and be sure to look spry. Please, though, 
go in advance of me; it may be that I’ll have to be 
somewhat delayed. I have still a letter to write.” 

Mrs. Roettger disappeared, and he kept his place 
for a little while. Then he mounted the stairs and 
knocked at Aunt Rika’s door. 

“ Is Miss Mischief there?” he asked, into the 
darkness. 

“ No,” sounded back. 

“ Where is she then?” 

“ How should I know ?” sighed Aunt Rika. “ I 
have not seen her since it grew dark. She is so 
peculiar ; perhaps she is grieving because she can- 
not go to the ball, but I cannot help it ; not a penny 
can I spend for such nonsense.” 

And this time Aunt Rika was not wr >ng in her 
conjecture. At the midday meal, Julia’s face had 
become a shade paler, just when her Aunt Minna’s 


The Night of the Ball. 


I 2 I 


maid had come in, asking Miss Julia, in the said mis- 
tress’s name, please to arrange the lace on her black 
silk dress in more modern style, “ for,” as the servant 
added, “ ordinarily Mrs. Roettger would not care, 
but to-night, as she is going with the doctor, she 
does want to appear well.” 

Miss Mischief had done as she was requested, in 
the most conscientious manner, and as she worked, 
the glories of the coming Casino ball were painted 
to her in glowing terms. It did not enter the mind 
of the talkative maid that the heart of a young 
fellow-being was thus being made heavy. Miss 
Mischief’s going to a ball was not to be imagined ; 
but longing after such a pleasure forced tears to the 
eyes of the slender girl, who sat there so diligently 
tacking old lace upon the rustling silk in her lap. 
Ah, she was not sighing after the splendors there — 
only because he was going without her. A torment- 
ing sensation suddenly overcame her ; she knew it 
not ; she only felt its pain, not being conscious that 
its name was — jealousy. 

With trembling fingers she finished her sewing, 
hastily threw the gown over a chair and ran out. 
She paused in the hall. Whither go with her sor- 
row? She opened the door that led into the gar- 
den and stood under the little projecting roof. The 
rain was pattering down, the wind bent the boughs 
of the trees, and through the darkness gleamed 
lights from a few windows. Yes, yonder in the 
elegant Krautner villa sat one who was not happy, 
either, who would spend this evening in solitude, 
while all the rest of the world were enjoying them- 


122 


Miss Mischief 


selves. Solitary would she be, with a heart aching 
like hers. And thus she was impelled, suddenly, to 
dash through rain and wind across to their friend, 
whom she had more and more avoided, since that 
friend had become her brother’s betrothed. She 
wanted to look into a pair of eyes that were not 
happy, either ; she wanted to press Theresa’s hand 
once more. She had drawn a shawl over her head 
and hurried through the wet walks of the garden. 
Now she stood upon the mosaic tiles of the brightly 
lighted hall before Theresa’s door and knocked. 

“ Come in !” greeted her cheerfully. 

Julia turned the knob and then stood upon the 
threshold with the expression of a child who awakes 
suddenly to find herself in fairyland. Brilliantly 
illumined was the snug, little nest, the flames of the 
gas-jets glittered in the silken folds of the drapery 
on the walls and sparkled like hundreds of flashing 
stars from the beautiful girl’s airy dress of pale blue 
embroidered with silver. She was turning around 
before a great mirror, surveying herself with much 
self-satisfaction. 

“ Ah, is that you? Come in!” cried Theresa. 
“ The chamber is cold. But it is nice of you, Julia. 
You can help me to put this thing here into 
my hair.” And she held out to the girl a little 
diamond star, that flashed and sparkled in every 
color of the rainbow. “ Look ! Isn’t it pretty, 
Julia ? Only think, papa just gave it to me to-day.” 
And she now proceeded to test where the glittering 
ornament would look most becoming, and finally 


The Night of the Ball, 


123 


stuck it skillfully above the forehead, where it 
nestled securely amid the fluffy waves of her golden 
hair. “ Does it please you ?” she asked, pouring a 
flood of eau de Cologne over her hands. 

Julia had remained standing by the little fireplace, 
and had involuntarily drawn closely about her her 
dark dress, damp as it was from exposure to the 
rain. 

“ Oh, very, very much !” answered she, “ But — ” 

“ Well — but?” asked Theresa, beginning to draw 
on her yard-long gloves, while she sent her maid 
out after papa. 

“ But I thought you would not go to the ball, 
Theresa ?” 

“ There you thought wrong. Why am I not to 
go? One lives only once, and there is no use in 
hugging one’s sorrow forever.” 

“ Certainly not. I only fancied that the ball 
would give you no pleasure.” 

Theresa was relieved of making a reply by the 
entrance of her father, who came in in his lively way, 
greeting his beautiful daughter with a loud — 

“ Bravo ! Bravo, Theresa !” 

“ And see, papa, how exquisitely the little star 
shines up there !” cried she, turning her head to 
him. 

“Yes, yes! But there is less to shine in my 
purse,” he laughed. And tapping Julia on the 
shoulder, he added : “ Alois Krautner ought to be 

put in prison for his extravagance. But what is one 
to do ? She will have everything that is the fashion — 


124 


Miss Mischief. 


everything that is the fashion ; but she does not get 
everything. To-day she has been lucky. But it is 
not so always. Is it, my pet ?” 

“ No, indeed. You always have your way,” she 
nodded, apparently pouting ; and when the old 
gentleman turned around, she made an ugly face 
behind his back and laughed like a mischievous 
sprite. 

“ I am master in my own house, anyhow !” cried 
he good-humoredly. “But do you know what I 
would like ?” And he stood almost deferentially 
before his daughter. “ That your mother could see 
you this evening.” 

And then he pulled out his huge red-silk handker- 
chief and blew his nose so that it shook the girl’s ears 
like a trumpet-blast, than hurriedly returned the 
handkerchief to his pocket and went off whistling : 
“ ‘ So we live ! So we live !’ ” 

“ He is quite touched,” said Theresa, again sur- 
veying herself in the mirror. “ Does the body fit?” 

“ I believe so. Good-night, Theresa, and much 
pleasure to you.” 

“ Stay ; the carriage is not here yet.” 

“ I must go home. Good-night.” 

At this moment the maid came, and she held 
something hidden under her apron. Julia heard 
her whisper: “ This evening there were two letters 
in the office, Miss Theresa,” and saw how the finely 
gloved right hand of the fair, lovely girl, hurriedly 
snatched two yellowish letters and threw them into 
a little box of Japanese lacquer-work that stood upon 
a small table made out of bamboo-cane and silk-plush. 


The Night of the Ball ’ 


125 


Julia well knew those letters; they were from Fred. 
He always wrote upon that expensive perfumed 
paper. Theresa had turned her back to her, and 
did not move either when her friend left the room ; 
but Julia saw in the mirror that her fair countenance 
was disfigured by an expression of ill-humor. 



CHAPTER IX. 

GOOD COMRADES. 

Julia went home, disconsolate, from her visit to 
Theresa Krautner. She was disposed to feel very 
angry with her friend, but reasoned herself out of 
the feeling. Her spirits were, however, no better. 
Stealthily as a thief, she crept up to the only corner 
that she could call her own, viz. : the little chamber 
under the roof. It was quite dark here, but, in spite 
of that, she found her way to the old arm-chair, and 
shivering, curled herself up in its depths. Pitilessly 
the rain poured down ; she could distinctly hear 
the pattering and splashing of the water upon the 
tiles, but the roof was good and strong, and not a 
drop came through. 

Here she was hidden, here she could give herself 
up, undisturbed, to the gloomy, rebellious thoughts 
that were mastering her soul to such a degree, that 
she was shocked herself at the contempt of mankind 
and consuming bitterness that preyed upon her, and 
which were not to be exorcised by any sweet mem- 
ory, or hope of future happiness. For months had 
this hope helped to brighten for her the forlorn and 

[I26j 


Good Comrades. 


12 7 


empty present, but now her heart refused any 
longer to stay itself upon a little bit of happiness. 

She sat there, with clenched hands, wholly 
absorbed in her misery, and suddenly a sob escaped 
her. 

Then a voice said : “ Dear me, what is to pay, 
that you sit here moping so? You will surely freeze 
to death.” 

“ I never freeze,” said she, defiantly. 

“ Jule, I believe wonders of you, but not that,” 
answered the doctor, good-humoredly. “ Do you 
know I have been waiting for you a full quarter of 
an hour in Aunt Rika’s room ? I was anxious to 
have a talk with you before I left, but it seemed 
that you never would come ! At last, I happened 
to think of this so-called studio. Where are you, 
though ? Give me your hand and lead me down- 
stairs, it is fearfully cold up here.” 

Feeling after it, he had caught her hand and now 
drew her arm under his own. 

“ Come !” said he, “ Guide me. I cannot find 
my way in this dark place.” 

“ What do want of me?” asked she, and her voice 
had a dry, hard sound. 

“ Do come away, first — 1 ’ll tell you as we go 
along; I haven’t much time, I can tell you, child, 
for 1 am — I must go.” 

“Oh, yes — to the ball! Pardon me, I forgot?” 
and she withdrew her hand. 

“ You want me to break my neck, I suppose, since 
you let me go?” 

“ Oh, no !” And a match kindled beneath her 


128 


Miss Mischief. 


fingers, with which she speedily lighted the stump 
of a candle. 

“ There, now you can see.” 

She went in advance, lighting him out of the 
garret on to the steps. 

“ You were in a great hurry to say something to 
me, I think you said,” remarked she, without turn- 
ing around. 

“ I wanted to ask you whether it would not be 
agreeable to you, if I should ask you to sacrifice a 
few hours of your day, to helping me a little in my 
work — to speak to the point, if you would do the 
honors of my reception-room during my office- 
hours? When I am not there on the spot, it fre- 
quently happens that the patients grow restless, or 
the women excite one another by foolish tales of 
sicknesses. You see, I need for the place a person 
with friendly manners, much tact and tenderness of 
heart; allot which qualities you possess, Mischief, 
and therefore, I wanted to ask you.” 

She stood just upon the landing of the narrow old 
garret stairs, the small lantern lighting only a small 
circle immediately around her, but it sufficed for 
the man to perceive the rapture that shone in two 
dark, glowing eyes. 

“ Oh, how gladly I’ll do it ?” said she, and not a 
trace of melancholy was any longer discernible 
upon her smiling countenance. 

“ Good little girl,” murmured he, touched by her 
ready compliance. “ Do you really think you will 
do it ?” 

“You cannot imagine what pleasure it will give 


Good Comrades . 


129 


me, Fritz, but — how about aunt? I must cook you 
know.” 

“All that is arranged for, Julia ; aunt will hire a 
maid again.” 

“ Oh, no, that cannot be !” cried the young girl, 
anxiously, “really not, Fritz! Ah, you do not 
know how — ” 

“ I know everything. Please ask no more ques- 
tions. So, it is understood : You will help me?” 

“ Yes, certainly I will.” 

“ Then, come to me early to-morrow, but before 
office-hours, so that I may give you a few hints for 
action. And, now, good-bye, to meet again soon.” 

“ ‘ To meet again soon !’ ” repeated she, in hardly 
audible tones, and followed him with her eyes, as 
he ran rapidly down-stairs. He had not once given 
her his hand, but she did not observe it ; she was too 
happy in being allowed to render him assistance. 
What cared she about the ball or Theresa? She 
could work with him and for him, which was a very 
different thing from dancing with him. 

Like a bird she flew down the steps and into the 
room to Aunt Rika. 

“Oh, how good you are, aunt!” said she, frevent- 
ly, stepping up to the old lady, who sat knitting by 
the lamp on the center-table, looking even more 
out of sorts than she had earlier in the day. 

Aunt Rika shrugged her shoulders. 

“ One cannot refuse the means for making an 
honest living,” said she, bitterly. 

“Oh, no, aunt! I mean to let me go down and 
help Fritz !” 


130 


Miss Mischief. 


“ Well, that is precisely what I mean, too ; or, do 
you imagine that he would have you do it for 
nothing?” 

The girl had suddenly turned pale to her very 
lips. 

“ He proposes to pay me for it ?” asked she, 
unsteadily. 

Of course, and very properly, to be sure !” 

“ But, I will not !” gasped Julia, indignantly. 

“ Why not, then, may I ask ? Have you anything 
to give away ? If the doctor, who has just become 
the rage, wishes you to receive for him — be he Fritz 
or any other — makes no difference to you, that 1 can 
see!” 

The color went and came quickly upon Julia’s 
face. 

“ Then ,you take whatever 1 earn,” said she, at last, 
“and never tell me when he gives it to you or how 
much — I cannot bear it?” And, turning away, she 
left the room. She — she his paid employe ! He 
would never have ventured to ask such a thing of 
her if he really loved her ! 

In mute anguish she wrung her hands ; and thus 
she sat, by her bed-side, half the night through, 
unmindful of how cold the room had become, her 
proud young heart seeking to compose itself. And 
ever and anon she fancied that she heard strains of 
violin-music, and saw airy gowns, embroidered with 
silver, flitting before her eyes, and a head crowned 
with shining, golden hair, wherein flashed and 
sparkled a little star. “ She must have everything 
that is the fashion,” Alois Krautner had exclaimed. 


Good Comrades. 


131 


Well, Dr. Fritz Roettger was just now all the rage. 
Had not aunt said so ? 

“ Good little girl !” was forever sounding in her 
ears, in waltz time. His clear, bright eyes looked 
forth from the confusion of whirling couples that 
danced before her eyes, and in them she read : “ Do 
you not know, Mischief, that I mean well by you?” 

“ Yes,” whispered she to herself, “ I know it! I 
know it! Up to this time you have been the only 
human being to show me affection, and therefore my 
whole soul cleaves to you. W rong me not, for pity’s 
sake! it would kill me ! I cannot bring myself to 
picture how it will be if you do not love me. 
Dear Heavenly Father, deign to put love for me 
into his heart? He must love me, else I care not to 
live !” 

That last utterance sounded very like a stifled 
shriek. But there was no one now to hear it, and 
the agony and passionateness of her grief died away, 
unheard and unsoothed. 

In the dazzlingly bright assembly-room, at this 
hour, an incredible number of cotillion favors decor- 
ated the doctor’s black coat. Yes, he had come to be 
quite the rage. And, at the very last, a fair beauty, 
in light blue, tripped up to him and, with smiling 
face, presented him the last favor, when he flung his 
arm about her waist and glided with her over the 
polished floor. And seated beside Minna Roettger, 
who was watching the couple with proud satisfac- 
tion, Mr. Alois Krautner slapped his knee with his 
hand and laughed. 

'‘Handsome couple, neighbor! Very handsome 


i3 2 


Miss Mischief. 


couple !” he cried. “ They have grown up like two 
Thuringian fir-trees.” And then he took a survey 
of his own short, fat figure and his neighbor’s 
angular shape, and gently nudged her arm with his 
elbow. “ Where did they get it, think you ? Not 
from us two. My dear lady, assuredly not. But 
come, the music has wound up. Take my arm, Mrs. 
Roettger, and let me have the honor of drinking a 
cup of coffee with you.’’ 

And, out of love for her Fritz, Minna smiled at 
the anything but flattering candor of “ the old 
clown,” and lay her hand upon his arm with great 
dignity. 

Midnight had long since passed when the doctor 
silently escorted his mother home. Arrived there, 
he threw the whole glittering array of favors into 
the waste-paper basket. Only one single little star 
lay next morning on his desk, just by his letter- 
paper. 

And upon this star fastened the eyes of Miss Mis- 
chief, who, with head proudly erect, stood by the 
doctor’s side, listening to his instructions as to how 
she was to preside as the genius of the reception- 
room. 

“ And now, forward !’’ said he jovially, in conclu- 
sion's for a second he took her right hand and shook 
it heartily. “ Now comes our work, little com- 
rade !” 



CHAPTER X. 

THE MATERNAL EYE. 

“ I do declare, Mischief, you were certainly born 
for your office,” said the young physician to Julia, a 
few weeks later, when she had succeeded in so effect- 
ually soothing a crying child that had run a long 
splinter into his finger that he stood up bravely and 
had it extracted like a little man. “ 1 hear your 
praises on all sides, from all sorts of people, young 
and old ; and if 1 have any fault to find with you, it 
is only this, that you, who have the faculty of dis- 
pensing happiness around you, are so silent at 
home.” 

“ Am I to talk to myself ?” answered she, smiling 
softly. 

“ No ; that is a habit, indulged in only by solitary 
and embittered people,” he replied. 

“ Well, I catch myself at it anyhow, occasionally,” 
she said, as if to herself, and the smile peculiar to 
her again lighted her countenance. 

“ There we have it, Mischief ! You shut yourself 
up too much. You ought to be out enjoying your- 
self with other young people.” 

[i33] 


134 


Miss Mischief. 


She lifted her long eyelashes and looked at him 
with so sad an expression that it touched him to the 
quick. 

“ Julia,” said he, more urgently than before, “ why 
do you go with Theresa no more? You used to be . 
together so much.” 

“ What should I talk with her about? We have 
nothing in common, and what we did have — ” she 
suddenly checked herself, and left him to imagine 
the rest of her sentence. 

“ Then come down here, sometimes, of an even- 
ing. Mother and I are often alone.” 

“ I do not know whether I would be welcome.” 

“ Please, child, do not be silly !” answered he, 
pettishly. 

“ Perhaps it is silly, Fritz; but since I know that 
you pay me for my help, I have felt separated from 
you, as if a barrier had been raised between us, so 
high ;” and she raised herself on tip-toe and held up 
her arm as high as she could. 

He opened his eyes wide, and stared at her. She 
stood before him, pale and with quivering lips. 

“Julia!” said he, with emotion, seizing both her 
hands. “ Well, how am 1 to make it clear to you ? 
Come v look straight at me! You cannot believe 
that I meant to hurt your feelings. Surely you 
know me better than that. The only thing that I 
wanted was to give aunt some help. You know how 
she is. She has an unbending pride, in spite of her 
pitiable situation, and I honor that high spirit of 
hers. I believe I should not be different myself. 
But that has no influence upon you, Julia, and — I 


The Maternal Eye. 


135 


could not repay you for all your assistance, even if 
I would ; that you know. Who in all the world 
could thus stand by me as you do now ? Certainly 
neither my mother nor Aunt Rika. Verily, little 
Mischief, you indulge yourself in very idle fancies. 
If it is any satisfaction to you, know, then, that your 
so-called fee is a pious fraud, that simply helps me 
a little to deceive that poor tortured woman up 
yonder, for her good. In some way or other, I 
should support her, whether you helped me or not.” 

“Is that so? Tell me, is it true?” she asked, 
slowly. 

“ What, my child ?” 

“ Why, what you have just said, namely, that I 
actually help you as no one else could do ?” 

“ Yes, Mischief. Have I ever told you aught but 
truth ?” He shook the hands that were withdrawn 
from him to conceal momentarily a glowing coun- 
tenance. 

“ Then it is well ; then — ” 

The rest he did not hear. 

“ Oh, you strange, silly child !” said he. “ But do 
I not hear my mother call? Farewell, Julia. Do 
not worry yourself any more.” 

“ No,” she answered ; “ I shall think no more about 
it. I ’ll believe everything.” She went as far as 
the door, then once more turned back her beautiful 
head, and her dark eyes shone full upon him. “ Now 
I could laugh at myself,” said she. “ I should have 
asked you directly, Fritz.” 

He opened his eyes wide. There was something 
in the look of that strange creature, that touched 


136 


Miss Mischief. 


him like a reproach, that reminded him of a spring 
afternoon, up in that little garret-room, where he 
had pressed a long and fervent kiss upon those 
beautifully curved lips. He gazed at the door long 
after she had disappeared. 

“ No, that is ridiculous! She loves me like a 
sister. Stuff and nonsense! I have surely said 
nothing to-day that — ” 

And after the lapse of a few minutes, he lit his 
cigar, and began to work at a scientific treatise 
upon nervous affections of the heart, and had pres- 
ently forgotten that there were such things in the 
world as women’s eyes. 

As soon as Julia made her appearance in the front 
hall, Minna hailed her with : 

“ Good gracious, what have you found to chat 
about so long? The last patient left, too, long ago, 
and you might just as well be helping me to unpack 
the furs, for behold how the snow is coming down 
out-of-doors! It should have been done long ago.” 

And, without observing Julia’s glowing counten- 
ance, she opened a small chamber next the garden, 
where were ranged trunks and clothes-presses, 
against white-washed walls. There she unlocked 
an old, oaken chest, whence, forthwith, issued a 
penetrating odor of camphor and naphthaline min- 
gled with that of pepper. 

“ Look here,” she began, while she knelt in front 
of the trunk, Julia standing by, “ have you not 
noticed something ?” 

“What?” asked the girl, as she held aloft the 
Siberian-squirrel muff belonging to Mrs. Roettger. 


The Maternal Eye. 


137 


“Well!” said the old woman, with a knowing 
wink. “ I think I know who will be Theresa’s choice, 
after all. Does she tell you nothing about her 
affairs ?” 

“ Nothing at all, Aunt,” answered Julia. 

“ If that’s so, it is your fault,” remarked Mrs. 
Roettger ill-naturedly, shaking her fur-collar so 
fiercely against the trunk, that a cloud of pepper 
filled the air. “ K-t-chew ! — what interest — k-t- 
chew ! — have love affairs for you ?” 

“ God bless you, aunt !” said Julia, and a roguish 
smile lit up her grave countenance. 

“ It was different in my time — k-t-chew ! Dear 
me, it is horrible, this sneezing ! When we girls get 
together we talked of nothing else but our beaux. 
But, it would be easy enough for you to turn the 
conversation on that theme when I give my next 
evening — Do you hear? For 1 must give one, and 
that right soon. You girls must try your fortunes 
with cards, and when you turn up knaves, and she 
turns red at the sight of one, then it is he — k-t- 
chew !” 

“ God bless you, aunt !” 

“ I’ll give my party before the Krautners get off. 
Maybe you don’t know that the old man has a 
cough ; day before yesterday they had Fritz called 
in. Theresa stands to it, that her father must go to 
the south, the sooner, the better. Well, why not? 
They have the money. One thing I know : I’d be 
right sorry for the girl to come back from her trav- 
els, married to some tricky foreigner — 1 know how 
it used to be at Monte Carlo, when the whole place 


Miss Mischief. 


138 


was full of fortune-hunters — and at Wiesbaden, too, 
when roulette was all the go. Marry one of that 
stripe, and then comes misery.” 

“ No, aunt, she is not going to come home, married 
abroad,” said Julia, in a tone of firmest conviction. 

“You are right, now,” chimed in Aunt Minna. 
“ She has too much good sense, you think.” And 
the old woman edged up closer to Miss Mischief 
and whispered into her little rosy ear, with an 
advance toward intimacy never shown before. 
“ Do you know, I believe Fritz and Theresa are 
fond of each other, and — Heavens ! What is there 
to laugh about, you silly thing ?” 

Julia had, in truth, laughed so heartily, clearly 
and merrily that it made the bare roof echo again. 
And now she blushed. 

“ Oh, dear! Aunt, pardon me,” she begged. 

The irritable woman grumbled but kept quiet. 

“ Yes, auntie, I ’ll turn up knaves, too,” promised 
Julia, now, with a sobered face, although she was 
secretly laughing for very gladness of soul. 

Dear, dear ; if the old lady only knew what she 
knew, namely, that Theresa had long since made 
her choice, and that the doctor — the doctor — 

“Just so — and you must help me, besides, with 
my company.” 

“Of course, with pleasure, aunt.” 

“ And Rika must lend me her coffee-spoons, else, 
with so many ladies (the young girls are to be 
invited as well), there would be too much washing- 
up to do.” 

Julia turned pale 


The Maternal Eye. 


*39 


“ Ah — the spoons ! Why — don’t you know ?” 

“ What am I to know ? They are not to be had, 
I suppose?” 

“ I don’t know. I believe — ” 

Minna reddened with anger. 

“ Sold or mislaid ?” she screamed. 

“ Sold, I believe,” stammered the young girl. 

“ Well, that beats everything !” cried Mrs. Roett- 
ger, passionately springing to her feet. “ If my 
poor, dead parents knew of such happenings, they 
could not rest in their graves ! And all for the sake 
of you two, who were rained down upon us without 
a spark of claim, only because that silly creature 
upstairs fell in love with your father and wanted to 
marry him. The whole of that fine property, that 
belongs to Fritz by rights, to have been fooled away 
and squandered by Lieutenant Adami ! I just wish 
I had carried out what I meant to do in the first 
instance, and had had this feeble-minded individual 
clapped into a lunatic-asylum !” 

The young girl turned pale and leaned against 
the door-post for support. She returned not a word 
to this outburst of hatred but instinctively turned to 
flee, when the infuriated woman shut to the lid of 
the trunk with a bang that resounded like a cannon- 
shot through the length and breadth of the house, 
and again her voice was raised : 

“ And you — you good-for-nothing thing, you — ” 

Julia was out in the hall. She did not know her- 
self how she got there, and found herself on the 
same little bench in the corner beyond the steps 


140 


Miss Mischief. 


where many a time, when a child, she had taken 
refuge and doubled up her little fists in impotent 
rage. To-day, too, she trembled in every limb, but 
her heart stood still when the doctor’s door was sud- 
denly opened and his quick steps were heard on the 
flagstones. 

“ What, in creation, is the matter?” 

Usually, his appearance was all-suflicient to 
silence Minna ; but the loss of the family silver had 
converted her into a raging lioness. In almost 
screeching tones she informed him of the horrible 
fact — that the heavy silver coffee-spoons were lost — 
those that had on them the coat of arms of her 
mother, a born “von,” the sole pride of the Traut- 
manns — and this only on account of these vaga- 
bonds ! 

“ Pray compose yourself, mother. That is no 
reason for getting so excited.” 

Her son’s voice was so frigid that the old lady’s 
high temperature sank as suddenly as if she had 
been dipped into one of the cold baths by means of 
which he was wont to reduce fever in his patients. 

Minna seated herself- on the trunk and began to 
sob. 

“You take everything so easily,” lamented she. 
“You never think of the future; but you must 
admit, it will be no little thing if some day one finds 
oneself saddled with such a burden.” 

“ What burden ?” 

“ Why Rika and Julia to be sure ! It will do, so 
far as Rika is concerned ; she is my sister ; but, that 
Julia, that — ” 


The Maternal Eye . 


141 


“ Do not worry yourself, she will never be a bur- 
den to you.” 

“ How so?” Minna had ceased to weep, and this 
“ How so?” was hurled out in a tone that was again 
decidedly combative. “ What do you expect will 
become of her ?” queried she. 

“Why, to begin, why should not she, some day, 
become a happy wife, like a thousand other girls?” 

A mocking laugh from the old lady accompanied 
his answer. 

“ Well, 1 declare, I should like to know who will 
be stupid enough to take her! Just as little as you 
would take her, will anybody else have her! Or, 
have you, perhaps, plans for the future?” 

The ringing of the front-door bell was now heard, 
and cut short the doctor’s answer. 

Julia sat, unseen, in her corner; with beating 
heart, she leaned her dizzy head against the dark 
wainscoting of the steps. She heard, without rightly 
comprehending it, that the doctor was called to 
come quickly, very quickly, to a patient, and 
directly afterward she heard brisk steps— his steps— 
that left the house ; then all was still. Hereupon, 
she, too, arose, with a proud smile upon her lips, 
and yet with bowed head, and thus she went 
upstairs into Aunt Rika’s sitting-room. 

The old lady stood, pale and trembling, in the 
middle of the room. 

“ Has there again been an unpleasant scene ? I 
heard Minna’s voice even up here.” 

“Unpleasant?” asked Julia, shaking her head, as 
if in surprise. 


1 4- 


Miss Mischief. 


Aunt Rika heaved a sigh of relief. The girl’s 
pale face looked so placid, that nothing of any con- 
sequence could have happened. 

But Julia went to and fro, attending to her little 
duties, as though in a dream. 

Several times she repeated these few words to her- 
self : “ A happy wife ! A happy wife !” 



CHAPTER XL 

LOVE AND COQUETRY. 

The great day had dawned upon which Minna 
was to give her entertainment. The house was 
kept in terrible commotion, until toward four 
o’clock, when quiet was restored. As soon as his 
office-hours were over, the doctor had taken flight, 
as well he might, seeing that both his rooms had 
been robbed of every chair. In the hall, the per- 
fume of fine coffee mingled with that of fresh 
flowers. A modern kerosene oil-lamp shed its rays 
from the big old lantern under the roof. Louise 
and Rika’s little maid shone resplendent in white 
aprons freshly ironed and stiffly starched ; and in 
the mistress’s two rooms burned candles and lamps. 

Minna herself walked from room to room, taking 
a final survey, stroking down the white damask 
table-cloth, scrutinizing with pride the silver sugar- 
bowl and cream -pot on the table, in front of the sofa 
in the best room, and congratulating herself upon 
her splendid india-rubber plants, that she dearly 
loved, and the leaves of which she had to-day wiped 
over with a little goose-fat. They shone as though 
freshly varnished ; but the secret of the way in 

[i43] 


144 


Miss Mischief. 


which she accomplished this she carefully guarded, 
no matter how often she was asked how she man- 
aged to keep the leaves so fresh and luxuriant. 

Miss Mischief, who had once more been taken into 
her aunt’s good graces, just now made her appear- 
ance, in a pretty white apron, to do the honors as 
daughter of the house, in the front room, where the 
young girls were going to be served with coffee. 

“ Now, mind not to fill the cups too full !” was a 
caution that frugal Minna could not refrain from giv- 
ing. “ And see that Louise hands the waiter first, 
once to the Bur germeister in and next time to the 
Frau Direct or in. Rika, of course, is as whimsical as 
ever, and stays upstairs.” 

‘ Yes; she thinks she does not know all the com- 
pany, and she does not feel well, either ; she is in 
such bad spirits.” 

“ I never saw the time that she lacked for excuses,” 
dryly returned her aunt. “ She may rest assured 
that adopted son of hers is well and hearty, even 
if he doesn’t write,” murmured she, fretfully. 
“ Listen ! There ’s the bell already ! Are the ser- 
vants at their posts?” 

Julia made haste to welcome the first arrival; 
but when she got into the hall, she found that it was 
no guest who had come in, but the postman, who 
handed her a letter for her aunt upstairs. She 
examined it, sighing ; for again it was not from 
Fred, and the old lady was so anxiously awaiting 
news from him who had been silent for weeks now. 
She hid the letter in her pocket, for there was no 
haste in presenting such a communication to her 


Love and Coquetry . 


145 


grief-stricken aunt. It was only a bill, sent the 
seventh time from a great dry-goods establishment 
in Berlin, where the lieutenant had laid in the 
richest supply of underclothes that ever an elegant 
young officer had possessed. 

Ah, what an oppressive atmosphere that poor girl 
had now to breathe ! Whatever phantoms of the 
imagination could torment the brain of a solitary, 
embittered human being, now haunted the old 
woman in her care for the only being in this world 
whom she really loved. Sometimes she saw her 
idolized adopted son sick in a hospital ; sometimes — 
and that was the most horrible idea of all — she saw 
him goaded by despair into leading a wild, vicious 
life, and then she would cover her face with her 
hands and implore the Almighty not to let her live 
to see that day. Twice had she sent registered 
letters to him ; early, yesterday, she had telegraphed 
besides, with money for reply. But Fred kept 
silent. 

And Julia was forever speaking words of comfort 
to the old lady, and bore scolding and fault-finding 
with meakness. She would have dearly loved to 
say : “ Do not make yourself so miserable over 
Fred’s future, for he is secretly betrothed to Theresa 
Krautner !” But it was strictly forbidden her to 
speak. Who knows what mischief she might do by 
telling? And so nothing more was left for her to 
do than to write to him, on her own account, and 
urge him incessantly to let I hem have news of him. 

She was about to return to the parlor, when there 
came another ring at the bell, and in came Theresa 


146 


Miss Mischief. 


in a light opera-cloak trimmed with fur, a becoming 
white hood setting otf the roses on her cheeks. She 
entered at the stroke of four, the hour fixed for the 
assembling of the guests. 

Julia welcomed her and showed her into Mrs. 
Roettger’s chamber, where the ladies were to take 
off their things, and upon removing her wraps the 
toilet of the charming guest proved to be as elegant 
as ever. This evening her gown was of rich, dark- 
green cloth, trimmed with narrow gold lace. 

Suddenly it occurred to Julia that she would ask 
Theresa about her brother, and she whispered 
timidly : 

“ Ah, Theresa, do tell me how Fred is. Have you 
heard from him lately ?” 

“ Why?” was the brief rejoiner; and, after awhile 
Theresa added, as she re-arranged her bangs : 
“ Really, I do not know.” 

Then she picked up her little gold-embroidered 
“ Pompadour ” and prepared to quit the room. 

Julia could not follow, because other ladies were 
coming— ever more ladies — and when, at last, she 
did get into the parlor, whence issued the humming 
like as of a swarm of bees, Theresa was to be seen 
ensconced on the sofa, the centre of a circle of 
young girls; and there was no possibility of having 
any private talk with her. 

The young ladies of Andersheim were a wonder- 
fully good set, stitching away on their Christmas 
gifts as if they had their living to make by it. 
Theresa alone seemed to be merely toying with her 
crochet-needle, which she held idly in her hand, 


Love and Coquetry. 


147 


‘while she listened attentively to the bits of gossip 
that flew from mouth to mouth. Her eyes evaded 
the pitifully pleading looks of Miss Mischief. Only 
when Julia passed through the room she scrutinized 
thoughtfully her tall, graceful figure in the tasteless 
cashmere gown which had served Julia as her best 
from her confirmation up to the present time. 

“But she’s prett} r , though,” said the young lady 
next Theresa, a fresh brunette with clear brown 
eyes. “ I have, somewhere, seen such a face in a 
picture, but cannot tell whether it was at Frankfort 
or Berlin. A girl carrying a vase with handles, on 
her head, with features just as proud, yet gentle as 
hers. What superb eyes she has !” 

“ I don’t know,” answered Theresa/' “ Beauty of 
that sort leaves me cold, if beauty it may be called. 
She is not my style.” 

The other smiled good-naturedly. 

“ I should like to know,” she went on, teasingly, 
“whether Doctor Roettger thinks the same of her as 
you do, Theresa? If I were in his place, 1 should 
be over head and ears in love with her.” 

Theresa Krautner shrugged her shoulders 

“ Possibly you might.” 

The young lady made a comical face. She was 
the only engaged person in the party, and was kept 
informed of all the news going, by her betrothed ; 
and, by virtue of her position, she could sound Doc- 
tor Roettger’s trumpets, without her motives being 
suspected. 

“ How you all did pay court to the poor man at 
the Casino ball,” was her final thrust. “ And which- 


148 


Miss Mischief. 


ever of you becomes his choice is not to be envied, 
for she bids fair to be pursued by a goodly amount 
of jealousy.” 

Theresa looked contemptuously at the speaker. 

“ I did not know — ” she began. 

“ Oh, you were in it, too ; you were only too well 
pleased to bestow a favor on him !” 

Theresa was relieved of the necessity for reply ; 
for, outside, the front-door bell rang, and the 
doctor’s voice was distinctly heard to say : “ Give 

me a lamp, please.” He had returned home earlier 
than had been expected. And then again they 
heard quite plainly the words: “ Ask Julia, please, 
to step across here for a moment.” 

Miss Mischief, who had just modestly placed her 
chair in the circle with the other girls, immediately 
got up and proceeded to the door. Arrived there, 
it seemed to her as though something compelled 
her to look across at Theresa, and when she turned 
her head, with the door-knob already in her hand, 
she beheld a pale face, with firmly compressed lips, 
and eyes that flashed upon her a glance too inimical 
to be misunderstood. She returned a look of aston- 
ishment and then went. What in the world had so 
changed that Theresa of late ? 

When she entered the room across the hall, Fritz 
came quickly to meet her. 

“Say, Julia, have you got any word from Fred?” 

“ No,” she answered. 

“ Then he has come in person. Of course, I may 
be mistaken, but I would lay a wager that he passed 
me just now at the railroad station.” 


Love and Coquetry. 


149 


“ That can hardly be, Fritz. He is not coming, 
you know, until Christmas, and it lacks three weeks 
of that.” 

“ l may be in error, my dear, but wanted to tell 
you my impression anyhow. And if it should be 
so, Mischief, have you an idea what brings him 
here ?” 

She blushed and was silent. 

“ Are you in his confidence ?” he asked. 

“ Yes, Fritz.” 

“ Well, child, if you have any influence over him, 
then see to it that the poor woman upstairs is sub- 
jected to no new excitements ; it would not only be 
in vain — seeing that she can render no further 
assistance — but her corporeal condition is such that 
it cannot bear much more strain.” 

She had dropped her head. 

“ Is it as bad as that ?” asked she, with feeling. 

But before he could reply, there resounded from 
the ante-room his mother’s voice in tones of lamen- 
tation ; exclamations of sympathy were also rife, the 
door flew open, and on its threshold stood Mrs. 
Roettger, with one arm flung around Theresa 
Krautner’s waist. That young lady’s face was pale 
and distorted by pain. With incomprehensible 
awkwardness, she had stuck the crochet needle into 
her hand. The doctor, much shocked, advanced 
and led the sufferer to a seat. Minna whimpered as 
if she had to stand the pain herself ; another old 
lady spoke of lock-jaw, and a third suggested that 
her father be sent for, until the doctor desired them 
all, without exception, to leave the room. Julia had 


* 5 ° 


Miss Mischief 


already hurried out to see to getting a basin of cold 
water. 

When she came back with it, she paused an 
instant at the door, and a sudden dizziness seized 
her. The hook had been withdrawn, but Theresa’s 
head lay, as though unconsciously, upon her helper’s 
shoulder, and two big tears rolled down Theresa’s 
pallid cheeks. 

Upon Julia’s entrance, the fair head was cautiously 
laid back against the pillow of the settee, and he did 
not wipe off the tears, either, as he had once good- 
naturedly done for Miss Mischief ; he walked about 
the room, with an unspeakably pained expression of 
face, such as people wear who feel doubly the pain 
that they must inflict upon others. Julia hardly 
recognized him, so sympathetic and compassionate 
was he, so carried out of himself, on account of “ a 
trifle,” as he would have pronounced it in the case 
of any other. 

“ Did it hurt very much ?” asked she, with sym- 
pathy in her tones. 

“ Of course it did,” he replied, taking the basin 
from her to place it on a stand and mix the water in 
it with carbolic acid. “ Please get some soft linen ; 
you know — out in the press — to the right.” 

She went obediently, and when she came back, 
the roses had returned to Theresa’s cheeks, and the 
little hand, that Fritz himself held in the water as 
tenderly as if it had been made of Sevres porcelain, 
trembled no more. Afterward, while being band- 
aged, Julia held this hand. For the first time she 
received a reproof : 


Love and Coquetry. 


151 


“ Mischief, pray, not so rough !” 

“ What did I do?” she asked, looking up at him. 

“ You held the arm too firmly. Only see those 
two red spots ?” 

“ Ah ! Don’t be angry !” stammered she, in her 
fright. 

“Julia,” begged Theresa, “ bring me my things. 
1 should like to go home.” 

“ Let me escort you,” said the doctor, eagerly. 

And he put on only his fur cap, not taking time 
to get his overcoat. Nevertheless, the two stood 
chatting quite a while before Mr. Krautner’s door. 
Once the young girl’s laugh rang out so cheerily 
and loudly upon the night air that all who heard it 
said : “ Surely, she must feel perfectly well again.” 

“ Good night,” said Theresa, as they parted. “ I 
hope to see you in the morning, as the physician is 
in duty bound to visit his illest patient.” 

“You may depend upon me. Good night, 
Theresa !” 

She extended her right hand to him. 

“ Good night, doctor !” 

In the pale glimmer of the lantern that stood upon 
elegant cast-iron candelabra on the front-door steps, 
her lovely childlike face looked up at him so sweetly, 
and such an innocent, winning smile played about 
her mouth, that he, who never indulged in over- 
strained gallantry, bent down and reverentially 
kissed her hhnd. Then he turned around quickly 
and went down the steps. 

Theresa hastily opened the house-door and, with 
light steps, tripped across the hall to her own room. 


152 


Miss Mischief 


There, with her uninjured hand, she pulled off her 
mantle and hood, turned up the gas higher and 
stood in front of the mirror that rose in crystalline 
clearness above the fire-place. Thus she stood, 
smiling at herself with the greatest complacency, 
when steps were heard in the passage, and the door 
was thrown open at the same time that a sharp 
knock was heard. The girl thought that it was her 
father and turned around pleasantly to — At the 
same instant a low shriek of dismay rang through 
the cosy little room : 

“ Frederick !” 

The man who had entered was indeed a spectacle 
calculated to alarm — pale, his light hair hanging 
disheveled about his forehead, and in his eyes, deep- 
set in an emaciated countenance, a dangerous light. 

“ I saw you come home just now,” he began. 
“ Times go well with you, I perceive, and I might 
easily have spared myself the anxiety that I have 
suffered on account of your persistent silence. But 
since here 1 am, I should like now to set off again 
only as your promised husband. You cannot blame 
me for this; and it must be more pleasant to your- 
self than these underhand doings. I beseech you, 
then, to go with me now to your father or have 
him brought here, so that the affair may be finally 
settled.” 

She had turned pale, and retreated into the deep 
window-niche, where stood the sewing-machine. 
The fright, his unqualified demand, the unpleasant 
consciousness that she had trifled with him, almost 
drove her wild with distress. 


Love and Coquetry . 


153 


“ Papa is not at home/’ she stammered. 

‘ Then I’ll wait for him.” 
rederick drew a chair to the fire-place. 

“ Shall we not have a chat ?” he asked, with the 

\ 

same uncanny composure. 

“ Oh, please go !” Theresa now pleaded. “ Come 
again to-morrow. I am not in the mood to talk 
now.” She pointed to her wounded hand. 

“ Nothing was to be perceived of this a few 
minutes ago,” he replied, not heeding her formal 
appeal. “ I heard your laugh ringing through the 
whole garden ; and that draughty spot, before the 
front-door, seemed to suit you very well for a talk. 
In here, though, it is much more comfortable ; so, 
please, what you grant to a stranger, you surely 
will not refuse to your betrothed ?” 

While he talked, she had drawn nearer. 

“I am alone in the house, and must once more 
earnestly implore you to leave this room !” She 
spoke with a voice quivering from excitement. 

“Why so?” he asked. “We were alone in the 
summer-house, that time, when we engaged our- 
selves.” 

“ You want to distress and insult me !” she cried, 
angrily, and the tears, that she had hitherto re- 
strained with difficulty, gushed from her eyes. 

Hereupon, he, too, advanced, and seized her 
hand. 

“You do not believe what you say, yourself, my 
dear,” said he. “ You love me just as dearly as you 
did a few months ago, when you swore to me that, 


i54 


Miss Mischief. 


in case your father would not consent to the engage- 
ment, you would go away with me secretly.” 

“No, no!” cried Theresa, snatching away her 
hand. “ I never said that ! You just fancy it!” 

“Fortunately, I have it down in writing.* It was 
in your very first letter, and this promise has always 
comforted me in these last few weeks of doubt. Say, 
then, Theresa, is your father still opposed to our 
engagement ?” 

“ Yes, just the same. And — I — ” 

“You ?” 

“ I have found out that he is right.” 

At these last words, she seated herself on the 
lounge and looked across at him, with the impa- 
tience of a woman who would like to have a painful 
interview cut short. 

“Theresa, that is not true! You cannot — dare 
not be in earnest! You must have preserved your 
love for me ! Your letters cannot lie ! You are no 
ordinary girl ! You are above narrow-minded prej- 
udices ! You will keep your promise to be mine, 
in defiance of the world, with or without your 
father’s consent! Try to move him again, with 
goodness ; and, if that fails, then let us burn the 
bridges behind us! There must be some spot upon 
earth where we — ” 

“ Do you imagine,” asked Theresa Krautner, with 
frigid composure, “ that I am going to leave my 
father by stealth, and plunge into an uncertain and 
risky future ?” 

“ Your father will come around by and by, and be 
reconciled.” 


Love and Coquetry . 


155 


“ l have no fancy for romantic adventure,” inter- 
posed she. “ I find it more agreeable here than any- 
where else in the world. In my eyes there is no 
spot equal to Andersheim. And, now, pray, go. 
After what has been said, it would be doubly pain- 
ful to me if my maid should come in and find you 
here.” 

“ No!” said he, passionately. “ I am not going ! 
You have an account to render me ! You have cost 
me all the tortures of hope deceived — nay, despair! 
Speak, now ! Why this sudden change ?” 

He had drawn nearer, and laid his hand threaten- 
ingly upon her shoulder. 

Then she jumped up, beside herself. 

“ Papa ! Papa !” she called, rushing out of the 
door. 

And heavy footsteps sounded in the hall ; they 
came across; and ere the shocked man could collect 
his faculties, Mr. Alois Krautner stood before him, 
whose smiling face, when he caught sight of the 
officer, was as suddenly darkened as when a black 
cloud passes over a sunny landscape. 

“What do you wish, sir ?” asked the father, to 
whom his daughter clung as if seeking protection. 
“ What is the cause of this honor ?” 

“ I have already told your daughter that I wanted 
to speak with you,” replied Adami, quickly recover- 
ing his self-possession. 

“ He wanted me to run away with him, and that l 
cannot do !” interrupted the weeping girl. 

“ No, no ; of course, you cannot,” said Mr. Kraut- 
ner, coldly. “Trouble naturally comes of such 


Miss Mischief. 


156 


carryings-on behind my back. Drink a glass of 
water, and take out your cry when you are by your- 
self. You lieutenant, in defauit of the daughter, 
will be so good as to leave with her father ; only, 
however, so far as to his own room. Here is the 
door. Take the lead, pray. I follow.” 

And the roly-poly little figure gave the preced- 
ence to the pale young man, with a bow that at any 
other time would have provoked infinite mirth ; but 
to-night neither of the spectators was capable of 
appreciating what was ludicrous about Mr. Alois 
Krautner. 

In the hall the cumbrous old gentleman stepped 
along as briskly as though he had invisible springs 
under his heels, and briskly opened the door to his 
own room. 

“ Pray excuse me a moment, until I have ex- 
changed a few words with my daughter in private.” 

So saying, he screwed somewhat higher an old- 
fashioned oil-lamp, and then left the room, to return 
immediately again to Theresa’s boudoir. The girl 
wanted to throw herself on his bosom, but, for the 
first time in his life, he repelled her. 

“ Excuse me, excuse me ; this is no time for 
caresses ! I only want a few plain answers to ques- 
tions that I shall put. Sit down there. Well, then, 
in the first place : Did you, in spite of my prohibi- 
tion, engage yourself to Lieutenant Adami last 
spring ?” 

A long pause, then a sob. 

“ Yes or no ?” 

“Yes, but I — ” 


Love and Coquetry. 


157 


“ No excuses, please. Have you exchanged let- 
ters with him ?” 

“ Yes, yes — but I — already — ” 

“ Did you promise to be true to him ?” 

“ Yes, but — ” 

“ Quietly ! And, now, have you changed your 
mind ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Why so?” 

“ Ah, dear papa,” sobbed Theresa, who now saw 
a chance to touch her angry father’s heart— “ dear 
papa, because I could not bear to deceive you any 
longer — because I have learned to know that you 
only want what is for my good.” 

“ Very well, very well ; we ’ll talk about that 
later.” He scurried out of the door and returned to 
the lieutenant. 



CHAPTER XII. 

FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 

In that elegant villa there was one room that pre- 
sented a strange contrast with the magnificence of 
the rest. It lay apart from the others, next to the 
street ; had two medium-sized windows, without 
stylish curtains ; only across their tops, from a plain 
board, hung a straight strip of stuff, trimmed with 
ball-fringe. The pine floors were scoured until 
dazzlingly white, and the stove was a yellowish 
china one of uncommonly ugly shape. 

Here stood an old-fashioned couch covered with 
black oil-cloth, and in front of it a heavy old table, 
also covered with oil-cloth, fastened on with br^ss- 
headed nails ; here hung on the wall, in a black, 
oval frame, the portrait of a woman with a child in 
her lap ; there was a shelf, piled up with pipes, in 
one corner ; and in the other a cherry-wood secre- 
tary ; and here stood the easy-chair in which Mr. 
Alois Krautner had taken his afternoon nap ever 
since he had set up housekeeping as a young master 
builder, with his Hannah by his side. In a word, it 
was the private apartment of the master of the 
house, the only one in which he felt perfectly at 

[158] 


Father and Daughter. 


159 


ease, where he could go in his shirt-sleeves in 
summer and in gown and cap in winter, making 
himself comfortable in his own way ; where, every 
day, he was reminded of how he had risen, from a 
bricklayer’s apprentice, to be a highly honored 
citizen. This room was his sanctuary, where he 
held praise-service to God in a peculiar fashion ; his 
temple of memory, for every piece of furniture had 
been used by his blessed wife in common with 
himself. At that table they had taken their first 
meal as young married people, and on that sofa they 
had sat when he would come home of an evening, 
tired and worn out with work. And in that press 
had been laid away the first dollars saved, with 
a rapture compared with which consciousness of 
later wealth paled like a shadow. 

And in this room now, Lieutenant Adarni sat on 
the sofa. The situation was not quite clear to him. 
Hope would stir still in his heart. Suppose the 
father should yield after all ! His self-conceit could 
not take in the idea that Theresa was really untrue 
to him. Her rejection assuredly came only from 
the shock of his unexpected appearance and his 
passionate urging of his suit ! She must love him 
yet ; the alternative was not supposable ! If it were 
not so, then all was up. He saw a bottomless pit 
yawning. And so this affair could not come to 
grief, it should not ! 

He started up when Mr. Krautner again came in 
and then fell back in despair. Upon the old man’s 
round face no good was to be read. Mr. Krautner 
took a chair, seated himself opposite his visitor, 


6o 


Miss Mischief. 


drummed with his short, fat fingers upon the green 
flowered oil-cloth, and finally began, after clearing 
his throat : 

“ My girl has treated you badly ; Theresa has 
flirted with you, as they say. It grieves me to find 
her at such tricks, for I always thought she would be 
as right-minded and true as her mother. Well, you 
see nowadays they are different, and anybody may 
go'astray once. Had she written to you, when she 
came to her senses : ‘ Sir, I perceive that father is 
right. We are not fit for each other,’ that would 
have done ; but, as it is, I must say she is in the 
wrong. I know, for certain, at this minute, that no 
good would have come of it, if you had made it up 
between you. You must pardon her, lieutenant. 
Now, pray — pray — keep your seat,” added he 
soothingly, as Frederick Adami, with ashen-hued 
visage, moved to go; “ we are not done yet. I have 
something more to say to you.” 

The officer sank back again ; the old man was 
silent, while his features twitched curiously. 

“ I know you better than you think I do, lieuten- 
ant.” he continued. “ In the first place, I have a 
little skill in reading men’s character upon their 
faces, and in the second, I requested some one — a 
good friend of mine, say — to keep an eye upon your 
fortunes. Do you understand ! Although I reject- 
ed your offer peremptorily, still I always counted 
upon the possibility that the girl might insist upon 
having you. 1 can only say that, after all, I am glad 
that Theresa has given up all thoughts of the match, 
because the accounts rendered me — so far as your 


the family party on the lawn.— S ea Chapter VI . 














































































































































* 











































Father and Daughter . 


161 


private life is concerned — were not exact!}' such as 
would recommend you as a husband for my 
daughter. With regard to the performance of your 
official duties, you were always spoken of with the 
greatest respect, and it were a pity for a good 
officer to have to quit the service on account of debt. 
That step is just ahead of you, lieutenant.” 

Adami sprang to his feet. 

“ How does that concern you, sir !” exclaimed he 
with quavering voice, as he picked up his hat, that 
lay on the table in front of him. 

“ Will you not let me finish what I had to say? 
Then I would say: We — that is Theresa — has done 
you a grievous wrong. Now, nothing is more 
hateful to me than to go around with a conscious- 
ness of owing a debt to anybody in the world. It 
would spoil the taste of my beer, disturb my sleep 
and, worse than that, spoil my pleasure in my own 
child. So I would beg of you now to have confi- 
dence in me and candidly tell me the amount of the 
sum that will cover your debts.” 

Again Lieutenant Adami jumped up with the 
same words as before : 

“ What concern it that of yours ?” 

And again Mr. Krautner pressed back into the 
corner of the sofa the young man who was wiping 
the cold sweat from his brow with a trembling 
hand. 

“Of course, you do not know the precise sum. I 
pray you, then, write me word of the amount and 
the names of your creditors. I will go myself to 
Berlin and arrange matters ; then that would be 


162 


Miss Mischief 


settled. But now I have a stipulation to make: 
You are nevermore to assert any claim to the girl 
over there. You understand that ? I must have 
your word of honor to that effect. Furthermore, 1 
must insist upon it that henceforth you regulate 
your affairs differently and begin a new life. No 
more daily wine-parties ; no keeping company with 
ballet-dancers, you understand — and cards, cards ! 
This is a warning from a man who means well by 
you. Naturally, perhaps, it might be all one to me 
what becomes of you ; but, you see — ” He stopped, 
whistled a few bars of a song, then cleared his throat 
and continued : “ I cannot get out of my head the 

old lady over yonder whom you call your adoptive 
mother. I was walking along the river, the other 
day, and met her. I had not seen her for a long 
while, and was utterly shocked at her wrinkled and 
careworn look. All on your account, lieutenant; 
for the sparrows on the house-tops whisper that for 
you she has given up all her money, little by little. 
Julia costs her nothing, for she stands by her like a 
brick and lives on crumbs, like a little bird. And 
then I could but think how I had seen her first — 
once when I, a stupid little ’prentice-boy, was sent 
over to yonder house to do a job of work. She was 
then a young and beautiful girl, such, I fancied, as 
the Virgin Mary must have been when on earth. 
But it is not only on account of her beauty that I can- 
not forget her, but because my father was killed 
that day. I had no mother even then, and when 
the people came and shouted down into the cellar 
— for we were building up a wall there—' Alois, 


Father and Dailg liter. 


163 


your father has been killed ; they are bringing him 
home, dead !’ and all began to lament and move off 
to look at the corpse, so that suddenly — poor little 
wretch that I was! — I found myself all alone in 
the cellar, then, all of a sudden, there stood that 
lovely young lady ; and she took the poor little 
fellow in her arms, stroked his tumbled hair that 
was all powdered with plaster and cobwebs, and 
said, so feelingly: ‘You, poor boy! Poor, poor 
boy !’ And you see that — that — ” He broke off, 
blew his nose, and went on, gruffly : “ There, you 

know now — not for your sake, but — Well, the 
matter is settled. We ’ll meet again in Berlin. See 
to it that you depart with as much privacy as you 
came. It is to the interest of us all that a dead 
silence be preserved. Good-night.” 

Then the door closed, and he had gone out of the 
room, leaving the lieutenant to find his own way. 

He took up his hat and left the house, with com- 
pressed lips, furious, ashamed, and yet, in the secret 
recesses of his soul, with a feeling of infinite relief. 

He walked past the old home-place in the dark- 
ness, along the stream. A candle was burning in 
his aunt’s little room. A feeling something like pity 
came over him, but he promptly checked it. Let 
there be no sentimentality now ; no humdrum com- 
monplace life. A lieutenant’s life, with eighteen 
dollars monthly in addition to his pay — never ! And 
as he stood there, gazing upward, a resolve was 
matured within him. Africa! Out into a different 
world ! 

From the window of the railway coach he cast 


164 


Miss Mischief \ 


one more glance across at the little town, and sought 
out the tower of the Krautner villa. 

“ Oh, that girl !” 

He doubled up his fist. He had been really 
enchanted by that fair-haired nixe, and for'it to end 
thus! And he had to submit to accept the kindness 
of that sentimental old fool, for there was no other 
way out of the mess. He lighted a cigar, and, as he 
inhaled its aromatic fragrance, the fierceness of his 
spirit gradually quieted down. To be rid of his 
debts was something not to be undervalued ; and 
why worry over the other? 

The next day, at noon, he sauntered very com- 
posedly into the casino, and took his seat at table ; 
and two days later, at the same time with his 
resignation, he sent in an application for an officer’s 
commission in the troop of German sharpshooters 
destined for East Africa. 

“ Why, how’s this ?” inquired his comrades. “We 
thought you were going to be married !” 

He stroked his mustache, and answered care- 
lessly : 

“ Positively, I am not fitted for a domestic char- 
acter ; that fortune will come soon enough.” And 
then he drank off his mug of porter and said he 
must be off to the station to meet an old uncle, who 
had taken it into his head to see the wonders of the 
great city ; so they need not expect him at supper 
that night. And the old uncle was Mr. Alois Kraut- 
ner, who had come to help the lieutenant to settle 
his debts. 


Father and Datighter. 165 


About half-past nine the same evening that 
Theresa had been released from her engagement — 
the young officer had hardly left the Krautner 
grounds — Julia’s slender form might have been seen 
issuing from next door. She bore a waiter holding 
a small plate of ice-cream and cake, and both were 
to be presented with Aunt Minna’s love and hopes 
for the speedy healing of Theresa’s hand. Julia 
came along the garden-path, where her brother’s 
footprints were still visible in the snow, but she had 
no suspicion of his visit nor any idea that so signifi- 
cant a crisis in his life had taken place just here. 

She entered the front hall, and as nobody ap- 
peared, she went across to Theresa’s door and 
knocked. But no hospitable “ Come in !” answered 
her summons. Then she pressed upon the latch and 
stuck her head in the door. 

“ May I come in ?” sounded kindly in the ears of 
Theresa, who sat in one of the small chairs by the 
hearth, with her back turned to the door. 

Now she jumped up, and Julia looked into a pale 
face and wrathful eyes. 

“ What do you want?” asked Theresa, brusquely, 
incapable, as she was, of hiding her agitation. “ I 
am dead tired and want to go to bed.” 

“How you do look, though!” said Julia, not in 
the least offended, because she saw in her a sufferer. 
“ Is your pain very great?” 

“ Yes.” 

Miss Mischief put down the waiter and turned to 
go, saying : 

“ Wait, Theresa ; I ’ll go after the doctor.” 


Miss Mischief. 


1 66 


“ I don’t want him ! For pity’s sake, stay !” was 
shrieked after her ; and Theresa pulled back her 
friend so violently by her dress that she tore it. 
“ Excuse me,” she stammered. 

“Yes. What is the matter with you, Theresa? 
You are horribly excited.” 

“Go to father,” murmured the fair girl. “Tell 
him he must come to me.” 

Julia went. She found Mr. Krautner in his room. 
He sat in the arm-chair at the window looking out 
upon the dark, snowy garden. 

“What would you have, little daughter?” he 
asked softly, in a voice that sounded quite different 
from usual. 

Julia delivered Theresa’s message. 

The old man did not reply immediately. 

“ Tell her, if she wants me, she can find her way 
to me,” he then said. “ The child is to come to the 
father, not the reverse. Alas ! I have put off mak- 
ing this clear to her in times past. From this day 
on it shall be different.” 

And when Julia looked up at him, wonderingly 
and questioningly, he patted her on the cheek. 

“ She has felt the need of her mother — her mother 
— child, and the old man has looked too tenderly 
upon the only thing left to him and worshiped his 
daughter like a Christ-child, ft has not done well 
— not done well!” And he shook his head. 

“ Are you not coming?” asked Julia once more, in 
gentle accents. 

He arose a little from his seat, then said again: 

“ No, I am not coming.” 


Father a7id Daughter. 


167 


“ Theresa,” said Julia to her expectant friend, “ I 
do not know what is the matter between you, but 
you are the child, go over to him and give him your 
hand.” 

Instead of making any reply, Theresa began to 
sob bitterly : 

“ Nobody will understand me. I cannot explain 
to anybody ! Even when I am sick and miserable, 
nobody will pay any regard to me. I am not going 
— I am not going to him ! He has treated me as if 
1 were a culprit, and I’d rather run away and never 
come back again — never!” 

And again she began to cry, until she fell into 
such a state of excitement that Julia flew across 
once more, to beg the old gentleman to come to 
Theresa, who seemed to be seriously sick. 

Then he did come and stepped up to the tremb- 
ling creature, who lay upon the sofa ; carefully he 
spread the covering over her delicate form, and his 
homely face, usually so jovial, had a wonderful 
expression of grief and tenderness. 

“ Well, now,* don’t cry any more, as though the 
greatest injustice had been done you. Do you 
hear?” he blurted. “Take a lesson from this! 
Your mother would not have done anything like 
that. She was so truthful and straightforward. Be 
in earnest, child, in earnest, and— do stop trembling, 
else you’ll be sick ; it would be well, I think, to send 
for the doctor, so that he — ” 

Again she started up. 

“ Not the doctor!” 

“Well, no — no!” said he soothingly. “There, 


Miss Mischief. 


1 68 


take a drink of sugar and water and go to rest ; I 
will afterwards sit by your bed until you are asleep. 
Julia will help you to undress, for I should not like 
the maid to see how excited you are.’' 

Julia put the still trembling girl to bed, when the 
old man returned and took a seat by his darling, 
preparing to keep watch over her, like any mother. 

Miss Mischief took her leave. Her eyes were 
moist as she cast one more glance back upon the 
half-slumbering girl, who was so lovingly tended. 
She did not know what had happened, but though 
it were the bitterest, sorest trial in the world, she 
who had such love bestowed upon her was to be 
envied. 

Happy Theresa ! Who has a father and a lover ! 
And then she with difficulty suppressed a shout of 
joy. Ah, there was happiness for her, too! There 
at the Krautner’s gate he stood and awaited her 
coming. His mother had certainly told him of her 
going out again. 

“ Well,” asked he, coming forward to meet her, 
“ How goes it over yonder, Mischief ?” 

“ Well,” answered she softly, “ she is asleep.” 

He gave a satisfied nod. 

Then they walked silently to the house. That little 
bit of the way was unspeakably delightful. 

“ Pleasant slumbers to you, little girl,” he said, in 
the front hall, weariedly, with a suppressed yawn. 
Then he nodded to her,' and disappeared in his own 
doorway. 

“Good-night!” murmured she, as she went 
upstairs. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

A SUITOR FOR MISS MISCHIEF. 

It is very hard for a young person to keep to her- 
self the things that engage her affections, be they 
sad or gay. The impressions that such a tender 
creature receives threaten to burst her heart, and 
some sympathizer must help one to endure the 
alternations of rapture and pain that the victims of 
first love must undergo. Seldom does a mother 
become one’s confidante ; it is almost always a 
bosom-friend, who has a secret of her own to keep. 

Such girlish friendship is beautiful to consider — 
always ready to console, to weep or laugh with one 
another, and always ready to discover miracles, 
where any other would see but the plainest prose. 

Miss Mischief had no mother, and had never been 
able to inspire with affection the woman who had 
promised to supply her place. The self-contained 
child would never have dared even to hint at any- 
thing that touched her feelings, to one so cold and 
careworn as her aunt. 

And Theresa Krautner could no longer be called 
her friend, for she had specially avoided any inti- 
macy with Julia since her engagement to her 

[169J 


4 


170 


Miss Mischief. 


brother, and the latter was much too proud to sue 
for a confidence that was withheld from her. But 
she suffered severely from the lack of any friend to 
whom she could unbosom herself, for by nature she 
was clinging and affectionate, all her coldness and 
apparent insensibility being artificial — a residuum 
of the loveless youth that she had spent. The love- 
light in those marvelous eyes of hers was the only 
outward token of the genuine warmth of her loving 
heart; but those eyes were almost always vailed 
beneath their long, dark lashes. Aunt Minna, to be 
sure, called it coquetry when these eyelashes would 
be lifted and their owner look a fellow-creature full 
in the face. The radiance emitted from the young 
girl’s eyes then was actually startling in its bril- 
liancy, betraying deep feeling and quick sensibilities. 

“ Fortunately,” Mrs. Roettger used to say, “ she 
has no opportunity for exercising that dangerous 
artillery of the eyes, for she never sees any other 
man than Fritz, and he is used to her looks ; they 
can’t hurt him. One can live, you know, in the 
midst of the most beautiful scenery and take no 
account of it, having been brought up with it every 
day. Really, the girl has nothing at all about her 
that could be called pretty except her eyes. Her 
black plaits look as if they were woven out of sew- 
ing-silk, and her complexion is as yellow as the old 
lace with which my gown is trimmed.” 

And yet suddenly it was proved that those eyes 
had awakened love in the heart of one man, who 
wanted to marry their owner, cost what it might. 
Minna raised her hands in astonishment, 


A Suitor for Miss Mischief. 


1 7i 


Miss Mischief herself had had no idea of the im- 
pression she had made upon a certain gentleman, 
who, it turned out, was devotedly attached to her. 
She had spoken, with her accustomed friendliness, to 
a sick man who had come almost every day to consult 
the doctor, with difficulty crossing the threshold of 
the reception-room, leaning on the arm of a servant. 
Perhaps she was even more friendly toward him 
than the rest, for at the sight of so much misery her 
heart overflowed with good-will. 

Was there anything sadder than to be young, rich, 
intellectual and, at the same time, hampered in every 
way by a frail body ? She, who, with all the repose 
of her movements, was yet peculiarly restless, who 
could not have stood it without running through 
the garden, down to the river, three or four times 
every day, and could row so skillfully in summer, 
with her soft and yet powerful arms — she could but 
feel the stronger compassion when she beheld a 
fellow-being who could only enjoy nature from a 
chair upon rollers. 

But this sympathy of hers only brought the poor 
man the added misery of a wounded heart. 

He suddenly fancied that he had found in that 
kind and lovely being what could reconcile him to 
life ; .and to-day, at noon, his mother had appeared 
and requested to have a private interview with Mrs. 
Roettger. 

She was a widow, a proud woman, who had never 
condescended to associate with the Andersheim 
people, and had lived, with her son, in utter seclu- 
sion. 


Miss Mischief 


1 72 


A very poor girl, although belonging to the old 
French nobility, she had become acquainted with Mr. 
Norban, just after her father had lost his last dime 
at the gambling-table and then shot himself in sudden 
despair. This, probably, led her to listen favor- 
ably to the addresses of a plain citizen and, as his 
wife, follow him to his beautiful villa on the Rhine. 
Fortunately, this was separated by a spacious park 
from the manufactory, because she did not care to 
be reminded that her husband manufactured “ Ger- 
man Sparkling Wine,” although it did give her some 
little comfort that Napoleon III., as the story goes, 
once sued for the hand of the fair widow Cliquot. 
But, nevertheless, she was a woman of character, 
and, moreover, a sorely tried woman. Her only 
son, her poor Alphonso, who gave promise of realiz- 
ing her brightest hopes, had been a cripple since 
early boyhood. He had bathed in the Rhine, when 
much overheated, and been brought home lamed 
for life — a terrible stroke this for his mother, who, 
however, did not lose her courage. She sought to 
gratify every wish of her idolized son, giving him 
the most careful mental training, and when his 
father died of wounds received in the war against 
France — he had participated in that campaign as an 
officer of a reserve-corps — she became not only the 
sole comforter of the boy, but also a German 
woman. She could not forgive her countrymen for 
having robbed her poor boy of his father. 

And this was the lady who came to-day to ask the 
hand of little Mischief for her beloved son. 

For eight-and-forty hours she had combated 


A Si tit or for Miss Mischief. 


173 


desperately this scheme against which her heart 
revolted. She had wanted to be all in all to her only 
son, and the thought of having to share his love with 
anybody else was horrible to her. But now she had 
submitted to the inevitable, and her only anxiety 
now was that the cripple might be scorned. 

Minna’s brain fairly reeled when she was told that 
Mrs. Norban had called, well knowing that that 
lady never visited the neighbors. Now she sat as 
stiff as a ramrod on the sofa beside her visitor, the 
slight, dark mustache on whose upper lip she had 
never before been near enough to see, and the sight 
of whose fur-trimmed velvet mantle completely 
turned the head of Mrs. Roettger. 

“ In short,” said Mrs. Norban, “ Alphonso loves 
this young girl, and what he has to offer her is 
not insignificant : Fortune ; in case of his early 
death we would provide for her in the best manner; 
position ; besides the grateful, devoted love of his 
good heart. He — ” 

She drew her hand across her eyes and wiped 
away a tear. 

“ Excuse me, dear madam,” protested Minna, 

but what girl is there who would not be happy if 
such a gentleman as your son — And will he marry 
Julia?” cried she, interrupting herself, again over- 
come by astonishment “ — actually marry her?” 

Mrs. Norban coughed. 

“ Since I come in person to speak for him, I should 
think there was no doubt about the matter. The 
young lady’s aunt has been pictured to me as 


174 


Miss Mischief, 


difficult of access, and that was why I turned to you, 
my dear Mrs. Roettger.” 

“ Oh, dear !” she answered, as though some great, 
unhoped for gift had dropped into her lap. “ What 
good luck for the child and my poor sister !” 

“ Pray, will it be possible for me to see the young 
lady herself?” 

“ What! You do not even know Julia ?” 

Mrs. Norban shook her head. 

“ Only through my son’s description.” 

Minna hurried, as fast as her felt slippers would 
carry her, out of the room and up the steps. Julia 
was in the kitchen, stirring oatmeal porridge for 
Aunt Rika, who had really been made sick by her 
foster-son’s prolonged silence, and kept to her 
bed, completely broken in spirit. 

In spite of her noiseless step, Aunt Minna burst 
into the kitchen like a storm-cloud, red from excite- 
ment, and with trembling voice called out to the 
frightened girl : 

“ Be quick ! Put on another dress ! Wash your 
hands ! There is someone down-stairs — ” She 
gasped for breath. “ Just make haste! Dress your- 
self nicely and behave sweetly! Do you hear?” 

“ And what am I to do down there, aunt ?” asked 
Julia, quietly. 

“ A lady has fainted ; bring a glass of water.” 

Minna herself judged this subterfuge to be extra- 
ordinarily foolish, as she rushed down-stairs, but 
nothing else had occurred to her. Still gasping for 
breath, she sat beside her visitor, when the door 
slowly opened and the young girl appeared with a 


A Suit or for Miss Mischief. 


A 5 


small waiter, on which stood a glass of fresh water. 
She had not changed her dress, for in her opinion, it 
was quite immaterial in what sort of gown one hur- 
ried to the assistance of a person in a swoon, and so 
she came in her scant, dark woolen print, her face 
slightly flushed from exposure to the heat of the 
fire. 

Mrs. Norban, who had no idea that she was sup- 
posed to be in a swoon, picked ^up her eye-glasses 
and gazed in astonishment upon the charming vision 
that opened to her view. Yes, now she understood 
it all. She knew her son’s glowing sense of the 
beautiful; she had cultivated it in him herself. And 
this was the creature, this blooming beauty, that he 
wanted for himself, poor fellow ! She let her glasses 
drop, and her eyes fell before those of Julia, who was 
offering her the glass of water. 

“ I thank you, my dear.” 

“ The lady is better already !” exclaimed Minna. 

“ Yes, but will you not sit down a minute ?” con- 
tinued Mrs. Norban, with a slightly surprised air, as 
Julia turned to go away again. “ I should like,” she 
went on, drawing the girl down into a chair at her 
side. “ I should like to thank you. You do not 
know me, but I know you through my son.” 

“ Yes, but I do know you, Mrs. Norban,” answer- 
ed Julia. “ Your son had often told me about his 
mother.” 

“Did he do that?” asked she, flushing from pleas- 
ure. “ He is a good man, and a noble-hearted one. 
I can say so, as a happy mother. You should read 


Miss Mischief. 


1 76 


his poems — will you? I ’ll send them to you; his 
whole heart is laid bare in them.” 

Julia cast down her eyes. 

“ I shall be very glad,” answered she, with some 
embarrassment. 

She felt that the lady must have some particular 
reason for speaking thus. 

“And will you come to see me? Yes? That is 
sweet of you. This afternoon, perhaps ?” 

“ I am sorry, Mrs. Norban, but my aunt is suffer- 
ing much more than usual to-day.” 

“ What is that you say ? Nonsense !” interposed 
Mrs. Roettger. “ You can go and rest easy on that 
score. I ’ll see after her ; you cannot always be shut 
up nursing.” 

“ You are a good child,” said Mrs. Norban, rising 
to go. “ Not to-day, then ; but to-morrow I ’ll take 
no denial ; to-morrow 1 ’ll send the carriage for you. 
And now, farewell — to meet again soon, I hope.” 

She had clasped both of Julia’s hands, and a 
melancholy smile relaxed her full lips, when she 
noticed the sweet, childlike embarrassment that suf- 
fused the maiden’s face. 

“ I ’ll see you very soon again, my dear. Adieu, 
Mrs. Roettger.” 

She went to the door. Julia stood still, as though 
rooted to the spot, but her aunt hurried after the 
departing visitor, following her across the yard as 
far as to her carriage. When she came back, the 
young girl was already on her way upstairs. 

‘‘Good gracious! Did any one ever behold the 
like of the stupid thing? She does not seem to be 


A Suitor for Miss Mischief. 


1 77 


even curious Wait there,” Minna screamed, “ so 
as not to give Rika a great fright !” 

“Why, a fright?” asked Julia, pausing in her 
course. 

The excited woman was at her side in a moment. 

“Dear me, is your reason clean gone, or do you 
only pretend not to be aware of the great, good for- 
tune that has befallen you ?” 

She caught hold of the girl’s hand and thrust her 
yielding form across the threshold of Aunt Rika’s 
door. Then, standing with arms akimbo, she called 
out to her alarmed sister: 

“ No, Rika — only to behold — just look at her, 
please ! No, such a thing we never would have 
thought of, you — no more than 1 ! — Bless me, I 
must sit down !” 

The nervous, sick woman started up in her bed. 

“ What is it?” she gasped, faintly, and her eyes 
turned with horror to the pale damsel, upon whom 
there was just beginning to dawn a bodeful sus- 
picion, that the thing in question concerned her 
own future. 

“ You need not be frightened, Rika, for an end 
will soon be put to your cares. Only think, this 
little simpleton is favored above all the other girls 
in this town ; she has an offer of marriage — one not 
a hoax, either — what do you think, Rika ? Alphonso 
Norban wants to have her!” 

A low, tremulous wail made itself heard as these 
last words were spoken. Then it grew still as 
death. The two sisters fixed their eyes upon Miss 
Mischief, who still stood upon the same spot, drawn 


1 78 


Miss Mischief. 


up to her full height, her head thrown back and pale 
as a corpse. A scarcely perceptiple shudder shook 
her frame. 

“ That is not true !” finally burst from her quiver- 
ing lips. 

“ Not true ? Well, it is hard to believe ; but it is- 
true, notwithstanding. His mother has expressly 
commissioned me to talk the matter over with your 
aunt.” 

“ But, Minna, he is — yes, he is — ” 

“ Leave the room !” hastily exclaimed Minna, 
cutting short her sister’s remark, and turning to 
Julia. “ And you, Rika, hush up with that senti- 
mental talk of yours ! He is a sickly man, to be 
sure ; but is he to have no wife on that account ?” 

“Not me, though ?” now came from Julia’s lips. 
She had remained standing, and now spoke calmly, 
and deliberately. “Not me!” she repeated once 
more. 

“ You will have to reconsider that determination,” 
declared the inflexible Minna ; “ but I want to talk 
with you first, Rika. Leave, Julia.” 

“ I should like to stay here.” 

“ Let her stay,” entreated the invalid also, throw- 
ing herself back on her pillow, with a sigh. . “ It is 
her affair, after all, and I would not have her think 
that I meddled in what she must decide for herself 
alone.” 

“What folly you talk, Rika! Are you waiting 
for the Grand Mogul, perhaps ? As if anything like 
so fine a chance would ever come again to such a 
Polly Poor girl ! For Heaven’s sake, child, consider 


A Suitor for Miss Mischief. 


179 


what a position such a match will give you. - You 
will be introduced into a very fairy-land. The poor 
man is daft about you, and whatever pleases him 
pleases his mother. Only consider how free from 
care you will be as his honored wife! You can 
make trips, see the world, have your own charming 
house, a box at the theatre in Wiesbaden and a 
handsome coach and pair. You will be cared for, 
protected and waited on like a princess ; no earthly 
want can come nigh you, while otherwise it dogs 
your every footstep. Or do you think it such an 
easy thing to go through the world as a poor girl, 
driven continually from pillar to post? For there 
is no use hiding the fact that you cannot stay here 
much longer. If I were in your place, I could not 
have borne this long, to witness the consuming 
anxiety of your poor aunt concerning your future, 
unprovided for as it was. You ought to fall on 
your knees and thanked God that He sends you a 
way out of all this perplexity, and will afford you 
the opportunity to make up to that poor creature, 
in some measure, for what she has gone through for 
your sake.” Here she pointed at the patient. 
“ Only consider the question from this point of view, 
and I am sure you will come to a different conclu- 
sion.” 

During this discourse, Julia’s head had sunk lower 
and lower, her arms fell down limp, and everything 
swam before her eyes ; it was as if an ice-cold hand 
thrust her ever farther, farther back from clear, 
peaceful sunshine, into a dark, black winter, unglad- 
dened by a single blossom ; and yet she willed 


i8o 


Miss Mischief 


nothing of the sort. She clung to that which had 
hitherto been her prop, clasping it firmly to her 
agonized bosom. 

“ Ah, I will do anything, everything to help aunt, 
only not that — not that !” 

“ Do everything ? Pretty talk, that ?” mocked 
Minna. “ What will you do ? Look out for a 
situation most likely ? This will not be so easy to 
find. A good one does not go a-begging. And 
what would you do? Become a paid sick-nurse, 
maybe ? Well, I’m sure you would do much better 
to wait upon you own husband ; then you would 
know what you would be doing.’’ 

“ But I will not !” suddenly cried the girl. “ Cease, 
aunt, I will not !” 

“ And why not, pray ?” 

“ Because 1 cannot love him 1” 

“ Well, nobody cares whether you do or not, for' 
that matter. Is that your whole reason ? Do you 
know that is altogether out of fashion ; it is simply 
ridiculous — at least ridiculous for a person in your 
situation.” 

Slowly Miss Mischief turned her indignant glance 
upon aunt Rika. She must take up for her, must 
comprehend her, for, she, too, had kept faithful to 
her lover, and refused every other offer, even after 
he had forsaken her for another woman. “ Help 
me !” pleaded her eloquent eyes. But quickly her 
eyelashes were towered, for, from the wide-open, 
glittering eyes of the fever-stricken patient, an 
entreaty had penetrated to her heart, a vehement 
entreaty that was full of anguish. “ If you only 


A Suitor for Miss Mischief, 


1 8 1 


could make up your mind to !” was written in them 
so clearly — oh, so clearly ! 

Then the girl turned off with a gesture that was 
full of contempt, and went out. 

And now she sat in her own contracted little room, 
with her hands folded in her lap. What was to be 
done was not quite clear to her, only this one thing 
she knew : He would help her, he would say, at last, 
at last : “ Be done torturing her; she is mine — mine 
forever !” If he would only come, though ; he 
stayed out so long to-day. 

Mrs. Roettger’s voice penetrated even up here ; 
she must be talking very loud and very eagerly. 
She had totally forgotten the midday meal. The 
matter of this suit had had the effect of a lightning- 
stroke, and turned everything out of its ordinary 
course. 

Now the door of her aunt’s room was shut to, and 
Minna glided over the hall ; her step could not be 
heard, but only her continual grumbling. Then all 
was still. 

The young girl at last reminded herself that the 
patient had not yet gotten her porridge, and made 
haste to carry it to her. Aunt Rika lay with her 
aching head buried in her pillow and would not 
eat ; indignantly she rejected the hand that would 
have clasped hers. 

“ Go, only go !” said she. “ I don’t want to hear 
anything about your affairs. I have only one wish : 
I wish I were dead !” 

Julia did not venture to speak one soothing word ; 
she knew now that even this woman was angry with 


lS2 


Miss Mischief. 


her because she would not seize the very first op- 
portunity that offered of ridding the house of her 
burdensome presence. She glided away, and from 
the hall window looked down upon the yard, won- 
dering if he would ever come who was to protect 
her. 

But the snow-covered yard was deserted, and the 
whole house was as still as death. Minna was no 
doubt trying to rest after the excitements and wor- 
ries of the forenoon. Julia did not remember ever 
to have seen the woman so wrought up, so angered. 
What great difference could it make to her whether 
she, Julia, were rich or not ? Then there arose 
before the girl’s eyes the pale, emaciated face of the 
man who wanted her for his wife. Oh, how pale, 
woe-begone and stricken were those features ! And 
a cold chill ran through her, an aversion that 
amounted to physical repulsion. Oh, that he would 
only soon return ! 

And suddenly she heard the bell down-stairs ring 
quite softly 5 He always came that way when he 
suspected that his mother would be asleep. The 
next minute she was on the stairs and ran through 
the hall into his reception-room. He was just pull- 
ing off his overcoat, and hardly looked at Miss 
Mischief, who stepped up to him, with pale face and 
hands firmly pressed together. 

“ Fritz,” she began, “ you told me (in the summer 
it was) if they wanted to do anything to me, I 
should find a protector in you. Now, please, please 
help me !” 

“ Come, Julia, it is cold here,” answered he, calmly, 


A Suitor for Miss Mischief. 


183 


preceding her into his sitting-room. “To be sure, 
I’ll help you if you need help. What has happened ? 
Have they been scolding you again, you poor little 
thing? Have you broken apiece of mother’s old 
china, or what else dreadful has happened ?” 

As he thus spoke, he took from his pocket a 
stethoscope and a roll of bandages, seated himself in 
his arm-chair before his table, and smilingly pointed 
her to a seat at his side. 

“ Well ?” he then asked. 

Julia looked him fixedly in the face, and it struck 
her that he looked differently to-day from usual — so 
much graver — and yet every featu"e glowed with a 
strange, unwonted light, and she had seen his cheek 
quiver so before when anything moved him very, 
very deeply. 

Ah, she could read his countenance, if none 
other in the world ! 

“ Well ?” he asked once more. 

“You must make it clear to your mother and 
Aunt Rika that I am in no case to marry Mr. Nor- 
ban,” said she, hurriedly. 

He turned around and stared at her. 

“ Why, child, if I did not know that you were as 
sober-minded and rational a little body as ever lived, 
I should think your brain was slightly addled. 
Nobody in his senses would put such a proposition 
to you.” 

“ But it has been put to me. Mrs. Norban herself 
has been to call on your mother to-day and asked 
for me for her son.” 

He laughed incredulously ; but when he saw the 


184 


Miss Mischief, 


convulsive twitching of that earnest little face he 
jumped up and exclaimed : 

“What a preposterous idea! Why, it is perfect 
madness! But compose yourself, child. I’ll set 
the matter right. And here comes mother? Well, 
be quiet, now, child, and do not tremble.” 

Mrs. Roettger fairly staggered back when she 
caught sight of the young girl. 

“ Well, I hope you will explain the situation 
clearly to her,” she said pettishly. 

“ 1 have done the best I could by assuring her 
that I should regard it as a perfect shame if she 
should marry a walking corpse for the sake of better- 
ing her fortunes. Luckily, she seems to have no 
such intention.” 

He had spoken very quietly, moving a few pam- 
phlets from one side of the desk to the other, and 
continued : 

“I shall go to see Mrs. Norban myself presently, 
to thank her, in due form, for this offer, remarking 
to her that 1 am ready to continue treating her son, 
but not here — rather at her own house ; and, in case 
he desires a nurse and companion, he need only 
advertise in some paper that has a large circulation. 
Hundreds will be glad to take the place. That 
were the best way out for us both. Had you some- 
thing else to say, mother?” 

No, Mrs. Roettger had nothing more to say ; nor 
would she have been able to express her opinion if 
she had tried to, so utterly confounded was she by 
her son’s emphatic declaration. She silently left 
the room, and, for awhile, the two remaining heard 


A Suitor for Miss Mischief, 


185 


nothing but the jarring of the old woman’s chamber 
door, as she slammed it to. Then a low sob — Miss 
Mischief had hidden her face in her hands and, 
while her frame was shaken by a nervous tremor, 
she uttered detached and unintelligible words. 
Shocked, he sought to quiet her, for he had never 
seen her weep, even as a child, and in earlier days 
had often wondered at the stolid composure of the 
constantly berated child. Now, this outburst of 
passionate grief touched him unspeakably ; he bent 
down nearer to her, the better to understand what 
she wanted ; to ascertain what more oppressed her. 
He was touched by the sisterly confidence mani- 
fested in him by the poor little thing, so he gently 
raised her head and laid his right hand soothingly 
upon her hair. 

'‘Julia,” he implored, “compose yourself ! You 
know now that the matter is settled. You see, that 
poor, sick fellow displayed a goodly amount of 
selfishness in asking you to marry him, badly off as 
he is. But you must make allowances for him ; he 
has been spoiled by his mother and taught that he 
was to have everything in the wide world that he 
wanted. But this time he will find out that he 
cannot have his way, for my little comrade is not to 
be sacrificed for the gratification of such selfish- 
ness.” 

But still the tears trickled down from beneath the 
girl’s long eyelashes. She grieved in prospect of 
what was now to come — the eternal reproaches, the 
life that, after this, would be yet more disconsolate 
than before; and the longing desire after a sure 


Miss Mischief. 


1 86 


retreat, after tenderness, after love, after the only 
heart that understood her, at this moment got the 
better of her. Her tearful countenance was up- 
lifted, her hands intertwined, and her lips moved. 
He bent his ear to her mouth, in order to catch the 
meaning of this inaudible whispering, but when he 
did hear plainly and gathered the sense of her 
words, it seemed as though his heart would stand 
still from horror. 

“ Oh, do not let me be so utterly desolate again, 
Fritz ! Tell them that you — that both of us — that 
we — ” 

He did not let her finish what she was saying. 

“Julia,” said he, aloud, standing up and bringing 
the girl to her feet with him, “ Julia, consider !” 

And seeing the red flush of shame that mounted 
to her cheeks, he drew her to him and said with 
quivering voice : 

“Julia, my poor little sister, you are not forsaken, 
you never will be ; and to prove to you how dearly 
your old playmate loves you, he will trust you with 
a secret,” and he drew her down upon the sofa 
beside him. “ I will tell you something that I 
would hardly have ventured to own to myself, even 
yesterday, and that I could not speak of to anybody 
else but you, my little comrade. Julia — 1 — ” 

He came to a sudden halt and jumped up. That 
was a horrible poison which he was about to 
administer as a medicine, possibly it might destroy 
life, and power of utterance failed him, although he 
told himself that this was the only physic that could 
effect a cure. But then he came back, resolved, 


A Suitor for Miss Mischief. 


187 


and took his stand in front of the girl, who sat in 
ghostly silence on the sofa, with an odd smile upon 
her lips. 

“Julia, I love, and since early this morning know 
that my love is returned. I know you — you — too, 
will love Theresa dearly as a sister, as my wife — ” 

He had not realized what would be the effect ! 
The face that met his gaze had a rigid, stony look, 
and an outcry smote upon his ear, so shrill and 
agonized that he thought he had never heard any- 
thing so bitter in his life. 

“ No,” she had called out — “ no, do not say that ! 
Not Theresa! For pity’s sake, say that it is not 
true !” 

She knelt before him, in the abandonment of 
agony and despair. He never would have believed 
that the timid, maidenly creature, whom he had 
known from childhood up, could be capable of such 
an excess of passion as now spoke from her dark, 
glowing eyes, the tone of her voice and the tremb- 
ling of her limbs. 

“Julia !” he exclaimed, indignantly, retiring a 
step. 

She did not rise. 

“ Fritz, I implore you ! You dare not ! She dare 
not! You do not know! Father above, it cannot 
be possible !” 

Then a hard hand jerked her up. 

“ Do you forget all sense of propriety ?” cried 
Minna, who had heard the girl’s shriek out in the 
hall. “ Fie upon you ! Girls do not throw them- 


Miss Mischief. 


1 88 


selves at the feet of men in this country — you under- 
stand !” 

And the tottering girl stood there, with her hands 
pressed to her temples as though aroused from a 
frightful dream, only to be awakened to a yet more 
horrible reality. 

“Yes, shame upon you! But I have suspected, 
for a long time, that you were in love with Fritz, 
only 1 did not want to speak of it.” 

With these words, she again grasped Julia by the 
arm, in order to lead her away. But she caught at 
the air. Miss Mischief had sunk to the floor, 
speechless, and the doctor bore her senseless form 
to the sofa. 

“ Dear me !” cried Mrs. Roettger. “ Did I not 
always tell you that there was something awfully 
common about this girl ?” 

“ Mother,” said the doctor, feelingly, while he 
busied himself about the fainting girl, “ if I did not 
know that you were not as hard-hearted as you 
seem, I should be wretched. Be so good as to hand 
me that ether and go for some wine.” 

“ Well,” said Mrs. Roettger, coolly, as she brought 
him the desired articles, “why should we be sur- 
prised ? Her mother did precisely the same thing, 
and the apple does not fall far from the parent- 
stalk. I am only glad of one thing, namely, that I 
have had the opportunity to learn that you and 
Theresa have made it up, and are engaged. Your 
union with her will make my old age happy — 
There, she is awake again,” she added. 

It was so. Julia slowly straightened herself up. 


A Suitor for Miss Mischief, 


189 


With a mute gesture, she rejected the doctor’s offer 
of help, and moved feebly through the room, to the 
outer door. A wonderful smile played about her 
mouth. 

Upstairs, Julia lay still upon her bed. She did not 
clearly know what she had done ; she only felt that 
something was different in her and about her. She 
pressed her hand to her heart, that pained her so 
sharply, and as she did so she smiled again. Nobody 
came to look after her. Who should do so, indeed? 

A considerable time had elapsed since Julia, pale 
and trembling, had mounted the stairs, when Aunt 
Rika’s little maid rushed into Minna’s sitting-room. 
There, reclining upon cushions in the snug corner 
by the greenish-porcelain stove, was a fair, lovely 
girl, looking down, with beaming, blue eyes, upon 
the man, who held her hand clasped, and softly 
imprinted a kiss upon it. 

“ So when you return from the south, Theresa,” 
he had just said, “ then I may carry my suit to your 
father ?” 

“ Yes,” she responded. “ I want him, once more, 
to enjoy travelling with me to the full, for, if he 
knew that it was the last journey that he and I 
would take together, he would be forever moping, 
and eye even heavenly Nice with melancholy. But,” 
added she, lifting her slender finger threateningly, 
“ do not be impatient, please?” 

“ I shall wait, as you desire it, Theresa. I am so 
grateful that you have at least devoted this evening 
hour to me.” 

Theresa looked at him in surprise. It was partic- 


190 


Miss Mischief. 


ularly agreeable to her that he did not insist upon 
gaining her father’s sanction to their engagement, 
because she wanted once more to enjoy her freedom 
to her heart’s content. But she had not expected 
to find it so easy to carry her point. And, more- 
over, the doctor did not even make the attempt to 
chain his happiness to him by means of gold rings 
and other tokens of betrothal. He sat as serenely 
and tranquilly there before her as might have done 
a man who had been married for years and had no 
occasion to worry himself over any possible mis- 
carriage of his hopes. 

“ Are you not at all jealous?’’ teased she. 

Jealous?’ No! I always think jealousy is 
injurious to the one whom we love. It presupposes 
a lack of faith.” 

Instantly she bit her under-lip with her little 
white teeth, and then broke into a laugh. 

And just now it was that the upstairs maid 
bounced into the room with disturbed countenance. 

“ Doctor, do come quickly, please ! Miss Julia is 
sick and talks away all the time as if to her brother, 
who, you know, is not here.” 

He jumped up and ran out without excusing 
himself to Theresa. 

“ What is that about Julia and Fred ?” inquired 
Theresa, restlessly going over to Minna, who had 
sat like a statue on the sofa in front of the table 
where stood the lamp, apparently so absorbed in her 
almanac that she neither saw nor heard anything. 

“ I do not know, my darling,” answered the 
enraptured mother-in-law*to-be, “ Very likely fever 


A Suitor for Miss Mischief. 


191 


makes her flighty in her talk ; she was not well 
to-day after dinner.” 

But Theresa seemed to have no disposition to 
prolong conversation with the old lady, and 
silently paced the floor. 

Then Fritz returned. 

“ She is very sick, mother,” said he, addressing 
himself to that lady. “ I believe that it is an inflam- 
mation of the brain, and so, until I can get a trained 
nurse, I shall have to ask you to stay by her.” 

“ Is she out of her senses ?” asked Theresa. “ Oh, 
what a pity !” 

And after his mother had gone, he folded his 
betrothed in his arms and earnestly looked her in 
the eye. 

“ Now come, I’ll escort you home, for I must go 
back to the patient. But first, let me take leave of 
you. May we soon meet again, my blessing!” 

He had moist eyes when he for the first time 
kissed her. 

Once more, at the villa front door, he took a 
tender leave of her, fondly gazing upon her beauti- 
ful face. 

“ God bring you safely back to me !” said he, fer- 
vently, as he bade her his last fond good-bye and 
took his leave. 

Up in the little sick-chamber, Miss Mischief, under 
the delusion of a fevered fancy, was carrying on a 
whispered conversation with her brother. 

“Ah, Fred, we two !” said she, just as the doctor 
came in again. “Ah, Fred, we two! But you will 
forget it, you are a man — you have a thousand times 


192 


Miss Mischief, 


more, too, but 1 — I had only the one thing.” And 
she wound up with a laugh. 

“ What is that she is always talking about with 
Fred ?” whispered Minna, as she laid on a fresh com- 
press of ice. 

He shrugged his shoulders and quietly took a 
seat by the bed of his little comrade. And there he 
was still sitting when, in the early morning, the 
shrill whistle of the locomotive sounded through the 
window. It was the train that bore his beloved to 
the south. 

Theresa reclined in a first-class coupe. The old 
gentleman fell asleep again very soon ; he was 
always accustomed to sleep through the best part of 
a journey ; but he had beforehand carefully enveloped 
his daughter in her traveling-roba and ensconced her 
little feet in fur-lined shoes, as she lay curled up on 
the opposite seat. 

She did not sleep, though, but looked out with 
languid gaze into the gloom of a December dawn. 
But as day gradually approached, with a cold, 
gray glimmer, she felt chilly, and began to yawn. 
The world struck her as dreadfully prosaic ; a feel- 
ing of ennui had been stealing over her ever since 
yesterday, and yet it had been the very day when 
she had reached the summit of her wishes, upoh the 
gratification of which, as she supposed, the happi- 
ness and repose of her life depended ; Doctor Roett- 
ger had avowed his love for her. Her anxiety was 
all wiped away, her ambition satisfied ; and yet — 
She yawned again. How disagreeable these early 
starts were ! 


COUNCILOR KRAUTNER STOOD WITH HIS HANDS CROSSED . — See Chapter VII 
















































































































































: : t ■ 

‘ ' 










































































' 






V 
























































A Suitor for Miss Mischief, 


193 


Half dreamily, she reviewed the events of that 
last day. Julia’s sickness had come in the very nick 
of time. Otherwise, she might have blabbed ; 
would have done so most probably. But, as it was, 
she suspected nothing; and if they came back in the 
spring, then — Well, many a thing would have 
happened between this and then. Anyhow, one 
could enjoy the carnival at Nice with an easy mind. 

She leaned her pretty head upon the sofa-cushion, 
and once more congratulated herself that the man 
about whom all the single women in the town were 
raving was her sworn lover. And then she pictured 
to herself her future home. They could furnish 
that interesting old house stylishly, for its rooms 
were on such a grand scale. The large yard, with 
its outbuildings, would suit admirably for servants’ 
rooms, carriage-house and stables. The grounds 
could be arranged to represent the yard of a medi- 
aeval castle, and be provided with a grass plot, a 
beautiful fountain, a sun-dial, etc. The garden (it 
had much finer trees than flourished in her father’s 
grounds) and the gondola — no, several gondolas, for 
they must have fairy-like garden-parties — 

The young girl’s eyes closed. She was asleep. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

SUNSHINE THAT MAKES DARK SHADOWS. 

A spring day with its dazzling sunshine greeted 
Miss Mischief, when, for the first time after her 
sickness, she crept down-stairs to drink in a few 
draughts of fresh air. Like one dreading a fall, she 
held fast by the banisters ; there was lacking to her 
a careful, supporting hand, such as she had been 
wont to extend to the convalescent, even the 
poorest ; no, she had to trust to her own feet — if 
they had only not been so feeble. But, whom was 
there for her to lean upon ? Aunt Rika was so 
badly off that she needed a prop herself, and Aunt 
Minna? Well, since the patient had been pro- 
nounced out of danger and been out of bed, that 
lady had hardly deigned her a glance. Since she 
had been eye-witness to that most “ indecorous 
scene,” she had given the trifling minx a wide berth. 
But Fritz ? Fritz was as friendly now as he had been 
before — and yet — with a difference. 

The young girl now moved slowly onward in the 
direction of the garden. In the broad, grape-vine 
[i94] 


Sunshine that makes Dark Shadozvs . 195 


walk the sun shone full through the bare boughs, 
and upon the borders on both sides of the box-edged 
path bloomed yellow and blue crocuses and white 
liverwort. The breeze wafted the perfume of 
violets, and on all sides shrubbery and trees were 
budding into leaf. 

The river was mightily swollen, and the meadow 
was under water. Julia saw all this as in a dream ; 
the outer air having an intoxicating effect upon her 
who had not been out-of-doors for months. Sud- 
denly she was compelled to lean against the trunk 
of the nut-tree; only as through a vail she still 
observed the sparkling of the waters and the 
awakening life of nature. 

A flag, with prettily painted staff, had just been 
hoisted over the Krautner villa. Julia followed its 
movements with languid eyes. How merrily it 
fluttered over yonder ! Nobody had mentioned it 
to her, but she knew this to be the signal of wel- 
come for those who to-day came home from the 
south. 

A sharp pang darted through the maiden’s bosom. 
She told herself that this was the reason why Fritz, 
for the first time, had omitted his visit to the patient 
in her little room, because he had not liked to show 
his delight in her presence. 

Angry at herself, she clinched her teeth and shook 
her head. What would she have ? All was settled. 
She only wished that he might have the happiness 
in possessing Theresa that he expected. The hard 
time that must elapse ere she were perfectly well 
would be gone at last, and then she could leave this 


Miss Mischief, 


196 


house and stand upon an independent footing, and 
all whom she left behind would bless the moment 
when the door closed behind her. Oh, how sweet it 
must be to have a home with one’s own dear father 
— a spot where you know that you are always wel- 
come ; where there are true hearts, open arms and 
hands to bless you — dear ones who would gladly 
share with you their last crumb ! And now, well 
was it with a man like Fred? Yes, she wondered 
where Fred could be at this very moment. 

One day, he had briefly communicated to his aunt 
that he was tired of humdrum life in a garrison ; 
had sent in his resignation of his offlcer’s commis- 
sion, and volunteered for service in East Africa. As 
soon as this exchange was effected, he meant to 
come to take leave of her. And, to be sure, between 
Christmas and New Year he had been there about 
twenty-four hours and bidden his old aunt farewell. 

Julia could not remember whether or not he had 
pressed her hand for good-bye, since then she was 
at her very worst. From that time, however, Aunt 
Rika had been utterly broken-hearted, all her 
thoughts being fixed upon him who was so far 
away, all her prayers offered on behalf of that dear, 
adoptive son, who following his adventurous spirit, 
would be murdered by the blacks, she was very 
sure. 

Julia wondered if he had learned of Theresa’s 
unfaithfulness; whether that was the cause of his 
turning his back upon Europe. If this was so, at 
any rate nobody besides Theresa and herself knew 
of this motive. For she had betrayed the secret of 


Situs June that makes Dark Shadows. 197 


their engagement to no human being. To what end 
disturb the peace of mind of him who was dearest 
to her? To what end reveal what would at once 
shatter the very foundations of a good man’s hap- 
piness, unsuspecting as he was? And was not the 
thought of exposing Theresa’s true character sug- 
gested by selfish, impure motives? Must she not 
be silent on the subject? Yes, if she had been his 
sister, all right; but now — now she loved him, and 
knew that she was instigated not solely by regard 
for his welfare but by something else of which she 
herself was ashamed, namely, a passionate bitterness 
and consuming jealousy. 

Therefore she maintained a scrupulous silence; 
kept her lips sealed when he sat by her bedside on 
those daj's when consciousness was gradually being 
restored to her — when, with solicitous mein and a 
compassionate expression in his eyes, he would hold 
her quivering hand ; said nothing when she learned 
from his mother that the doctor’s betrothal would 
take place immediately after Theresa’s return. She 
did not shriek out : 

“ The girl that you love is faithless, faithless to 
her heart’s core! She only takes you as she buys a 
new gown — because it is the fashion.” 

She compressed her lips firmly and pretended to 
be sleeping, only that he might go, that she might 
not see his dear face. It was almost a miracle that 
she got well in the midst of such inward’ con- 
flicts, that she was sufficiently restored to be stand- 
ing here in the air and sunshine, gazing upon the 
banner over yonder fluttering so gaily in the breeze. 


198 


Miss Mischief. 


Julia followed every turn of the dancing pennant ; 
and then, across the low wall away through the 
bare boughs she descried the coachman and the 
chambermaid who, amid loud laughter, were-fasten- 
ing a huge wreath of flowers over the house-door. 
She saw Minna, in her own person, advance and 
present to those servants — as a special love-greeting 
— a pretty basket of flowers for Theresa’s boudoir, 
no doubt. 

Julia again moved slowly toward the house, her 
strength having failed her. Through the balmy 
air now came full upon her ear the clangor of 
church-bells ; all three chimed in harmony as if some 
great festival were being inaugurated ; but no, 
their sound was mournful. Julia recognized its sig- 
nificance now — some weary mortal was being borne 
to the grave, but one of those held in honor here 
below. 

With difficulty she opened the house-door, it being 
of heavy oak, and came into the shady hall, just as 
Minna entered from the other side. The latter did 
as though she did not observe the pale girl; she 
went rapidly into the kitchen and, from the threshold, 
called out to Louisa : 

“They are just burying that young Norban ! 
What a pity that at least he had not left behind him 
somebody to inherit his wealth ; as it is, there sits 
his old mother alone with all that money.” 

“ Yes, yes,” answered Louisa ; “ if Miss Julia had 
only taken him, what a rich widow she would be 
now and what an easy life she would lead ! And 
what has she now ?” 


Sunshine that makes Dark Shadows. 199 


Miss Mischief smiled, as she toilsomely mounted 
the stairs. Yes, what had she now ? Nothing — 
nothing at all ! And yet she still had herself, and 
the consciousness of having done what was right 
and — pain about him. 

In fact, Julia did not see Fritz to-day, for the first 
time. He only sent her up a few oranges and a 
book. He asked that she would excuse him for not 
calling to-day ; he had so much to do. 

Now she sat at the window, looking out upon the 
river and counting the ships that passed ; and pres- 
ently the sun went down in a bed of crimson clouds, 
and she said to herself : 

“ Now they must come !” 

It was very quiet in the lower story, even Mrs. 
Roettger being apparently away from home. Per- 
haps they were even now celebrating their betrothal ; 
perhaps already, when they were down yonder on 
the blue Mediterranean, Theresa had confessed to 
her father that she loved Fritz Roettger, and, at the 
same time, asked him if this was a son-in-law after 
his mind. And Julia fancied she could see the joy 
that spread over the old fellow’s good-humored face 
and hear his hearty laugh as he answered, cordially : 

“ Why, yes, little daughter, yes ; he is the kind of 
man to tie to. You have made a good choice.” 

Then Theresa had telegraphed — of course she 
had — and now the lovers were exchanging raptur- 
ous greetings, while Papa Krautner and Mamma 
Roettger were looking on with sympathetic smiles, 
and Fritz kissed his betrothed. 

How violently Julia’s heart began to beat, all of a 


200 


Miss Mischief. 


sudden ! And “ chirp/' “ chirp,” went the starlings 
out-of-doors, flying blissfully together into their 
little nest. Down on the bank of the Rhine, Aunt 
Minna’s maid stood by her lover, playfully splashing 
him in the face with a handful of water when 
he tried to kiss her. How the pair did enjoy the 
twilight hour, laughing and chatting together ! 
And when Louisa at last turned to come home, with 
a basket of fresh spinach on her head, they called 
out to one another : “VVe ’ll see each other soon 
again!” And soon afterward Julia heard the girl 
singing cheerily in the kitchen. Meanwhile, she 
herself sat there, utterly faint and weary, but still 
her face wore a placid expression, until the flush of 
sunset had faded into the monotonous gray of dusk, 
when down-stairs the door closed and Minna’s brisk 
steps were heard approaching, to die away in Aunt 
Rika’s room. Then she got up and went across the 
intervening passage. She wanted certainty, final 
certainty ; for, to the very last, people will believe 
in miracles, even if they do not admit it to them- 
selves. 

The door was ajar, and she arrived in front of it 
just in time to hear these words of Minna’s : 

“ And you would not believe how happy they both 
are! Like children, Rika, like blessed angels! 
And the old man is as happy as his daughter. The 
wedding is to be in May. Dear, dear ! We have 
sunshine at last, after such a long season of trial !” 

Aunt Rika said softly : 

“ I envy you, Minna ! God knows I envy you !” 

But Miss Mischief did not go in. On the other 


Sunshine that makes Dark Shadows. 201 


hand, she went back to her room. All was still as a 
mouse in there ; only once a sigh escaped her, and 
it was almost like a sigh of relief. And for the first 
time she slept again that night. 

She had the certainty that she had longed after. 
Rest had come to her — the rigid rest of self-renun- 
ciation. 



CHAPTER XV. 

MISS MISCHIEF ENGAGES TO LEAVE HER OLD HOME. 

With firm will one can do much, even toward 
getting well, and Julia wanted to be well. Nothing 
would have paid her to be present at the wedding, 
so she was determined to leave the house before 
that time. Nobody made any opposition to her 
going out into the world ; circumstances had so 
shaped themselves that her presence was more than 
ever superfluous. 

Theresa’s desire to occupy the whole house alone 
was not to be gratified. Before Mr. Krautner could 
buy Miss Rika Trautmann’s property in all privacy, 
it had found another purchaser, who was none other 
than Doctor Roettger himself. But dearly as he 
loved his promised bride, he was by no means to be 
induced to turn his mother and his aunt out of the 
home of their fathers. 

“ My darling,” said he, earnestly, to Theresa, 
“ mother and aunt will occupy the lower floor ; 
mother in her old quarters, aunt in the three rooms 
adjoining my reception-room and office. I shall 
[202] 


Miss Mischief leaves her Old Home. 203 


have the door connecting them with mine locked 
up. Aunt shall hold individual sway in her prov- 
ince, I in mine. But above-stairs happiness shall 
take up her abode in those cosy rooms of ours, and 
nestle there with us undisturbed. Up there you 
shall reign like a queen, ordering your kingdom 
according to your own taste ; below, everything 
stands just as it is.” 

No entreaties, no flattering, no cajolery were of 
any avail, and Theresa postponed her victory until 
after the wedding ceremony was over. She would 
carry her point yet, she thought. 

The two old sisters were, henceforth, to keep 
house in common, and in the beginningof April, for 
the first time Julia put her hardly recovered 
strength to the test by helping Aunt Rika to fur- 
nish the chambers down-stairs, for upstairs masons, 
carpenters and all sorts of workmen were expected 
to put to rights the abode of the future Mrs. Roett- 
ger. Nobody asked Julia if she were not undertak- 
ing too much. Only Fritz said a single time, as he 
chanced to look into the room in passing, a bunch of 
blooming anemones in his hand, that he was carry- 
ing to Theresa : 

“ Do not exert yourself too much, Mischief. 
What will you do if you fall sick again ? Are you 
still drinking your iron and wine ?’’ 

She nodded assent absent-mindedly, and he went 
on his way. 

He spent every minute he could spare over at the 
Krautner villa. He avoided coming near Julia 
when in company of his betrothed ; and in recogni- 


Miss Mischief 


204 


tion of the pain that he had cost her, he treated her 
with greater consideration than ever before. Never- 
theless, this very consideration cut Julia to the 
quick, and her pride revolted against it in silent 
wrath. 

In the midst of the moving came Mr. Krautner, 
and regardless of all the confusion, seated himself 
sociably by Aunt Rika’s side, on the sofa, which had 
just been set along the wall ; quietly he observed 
how the pale, almost too slender girl worked, to 
make things comfortable about the old lady, so that 
she would not miss too much the old apartments to 
which she had been so long accustomed. 

“ Well, tell me about it, dear sister-in-law,” for so 
he had called Aunt Rika since the betrothal. “ Fritz 
told me recently that your little daughter, over 
yonder, is looking out for a situation.” 

“ It is so. I am indeed looking for a place.” 

“ Ahem ! You will not have far to seek this time. 
Come to me, and I’ll treat you like my own child. 
I cannot be left without somebody in the house with 
me. I must have somebody to give me a friendly 
greeting when I come home of an evening. And 
over and above, if Theresa goes away ” — he snorted 
vociferously — “ I shall hate it dreadfully to be left 
all by myself in our big house. How is it Miss 
Julia? Come here and tell me.” 

Aunt Rika looked at him gratefully, but in some 
surprise. Julia, however, said quickly : 

41 I thank you heartily, Mr. Krautner ; but 1 
should be too much spoiled at your house, which 
would not be good for me. I must make my own 


Miss Mischief leaves her Old Home . 205 


living now, and ’t were better done among entire 
strangers, and that far, far away.” 

“‘Spoilt?’ I spoil nobody; least of all you, Miss 
Mischief. And I am not making you a mere tem- 
porary offer, mind. I want it to be forever; until 
either somebody bears you away to your own hoftie 
or until I close my eyes. And Alois Krautner does 
not forsake people in death either, understand.” 

She came over to where he sat, her lips trembling 
with emotion. 

“ Thank you, many times,” said she, “ but 1 can- 
not. I accepted a situation yesterday.” 

Aunt Rika flared up. 

“ And I not know of it?” she cried. 

“ I beg your pardon, aunt. I meant to tell you 
to-day, anyhow.” 

“Where are you going and what to do?” asked 
the old lady, putting on as much chagrin as if dis- 
respect had been paid to the tenderest of mothers. 

“ I have engaged, in the first place, to attend a 
training-school for sick-nurses in Cologne.” 

“ ‘ Sick-nurses !’ You, who would not even under- 
take to nurse your own husband ?” 

The girl turned pale to her very lips. 

“ It *was not from caring for the sick that I 
shrank,” said she, aloud. “ If his mother had asked 
me to come to him as a nurse, I should have gone 
directly. My horror was at being linked to him by 
a relationship that people should not enter into ” — 
and here a bright blush suffused her countenance — 
“unless they love each other very much. I would 


206 


Miss Mischief. 


rather have died than go to the altar beside his 
rolling-chair. I — ” 

“Bravo!” cried Mr. Krautner. “She is right, 
there, sister-in-law, but I can only tell you that not 
every girl thinks so, nowadays. For the sake of the 
poor man’s money-bags, hundreds would have said 
‘Yes,’ and buried their fresh youth in the sick- 
chamber, or not even that — they would have left 
him to sit alone, and amused themselves elsewhere. 
But, to make one’s way in life independently, 
requires courage ; and, by nursing the sick, dear 
•child, the greatest courage. Have you thought 
over it well ? It is a difficult post.” 

“ Indeed, I have thought over it well, long and 
from all points of view,” replied she. “ Am I,” she 
continued, “ to increase the host of those who try to 
make a living as household drudges, or am I to turn 
my moderate ability to painting, which will yield an 
uncertain income ? Or am I to set out to be a 
governess, when thousands are already vainly wait- 
ing for employment? On the contrary, I think 
there cannot come too many applicants for the post 
of sick-nurse, provided that they enter seriously 
upon their profession. And, the more refined in 
feeling is the person who takes her station by the 
sick-bed, so much the more beneficial will be the 
impression made upon the sufferer. I have thought 
so of myself, and Friz confirmed my judgment, 
when — when I used to help him with his patients.” 

Miss Rika said nothing more; she had turned 
away, and was apparently regarding a couple of 
pictures that stood against the wall. She did not 


Miss Mischief leaves her Old Home. 207 


know what it was, but something' about the girl’s 
speech took hold upon her and reminded her of her 
father, for the first time, long as they had lived 
together. Whether it was the manner of her ex- 
pression or the movement of her hand, she could 
not tell. Never before, either, had the girl made so 
long a speech. 

“ Well,” said Mr. Krautner, and he rose to his feet, 
“all honor to your determination ! But if it turns 
out harder than you expected, if your health should 
not prove sufficient for the strain, my dear, then you 
know where old Krautner lives. Give me your 
hand upon it. And if ever I am sick, nobody else 
shall nurse me. In that case, I hope that 1 shall not 
apply to you in vain. Adieu !” 

Julia went on arranging the furniture, while Aunt 
Rika looked on ; but neither of them spoke for a 
long while. When Julia finally sank exhausted into 
a chair by the window, italready looked quite home- 
like in the little room, for the girl had taken pains to 
hang every picture in exactly the same place as it 
had occupied in her old chamber. Then, in a tone 
of repressed feeling, Rika asked the question : 

“ When must you be in Cologne?” 

“ On the 15th of May, aunt.” 

“ Why cannot you stay to the wedding ? It comes 
off on the 20th of the same month.” 

“ No, aunt. I am sorry, but it could not be so 
arranged,” answered Miss Mischief. 

1 Then she got up quickly and went out. 



CHAPTER XVI. 

NATURE AND LOVE SMILE. 

Six days before the wedding. Julia’s last day at 
home ! 

The old house seemed already pervaded by an 
atmosphere of festivity. The noise and bustle of 
mechanics had ceased ; the maids from the Krautner 
villa, aided by the new servants, who were to form 
the household of the future married couple, had 
cleaned away the last traces left by workmen ; and, 
shining like a jewel-casket, the upper story awaited 
its young mistress. 

Improvement began at the front hall. The res- 
pectable old pavement, made out of red brick, that 
had long been wont to notify the inmates of the 
house of a change in the weather — they always 
looked moist a few days before the approach of 
rainy weather — had vanished, giving place to daz- 
zling mosaic flagstones of black and white slabs of 
marble, so smooth and mirror-like that Minna 
crossed it unsteadily, like a skater that steps upon 
ice for the first time. 

Pretty straw matting was stretched over it as far 
as the staircase, and all along the fashionably paint- 
[2081 


Nature and Love Smile. 


209 


ed walls were ranged benches carved in the old 
German style. The windows above the stair-land- 
ing no longer admitted plain daylight ; no, it flashed 
in many-colored rays through small panes of glass, 
covered with armorial designs, and sunbeams played 
in glowing warmth and brightness upon the soft 
carpeting that covered the dark old steps. 

Minna was struck quite dumb with astonishment 
in view of all this grandeur. She had only one 
trouble: Her hard-headed son would not hear of 
having his office and reception-room fitted up in a 
style corresponding with such magnificence. He 
maintained that the old furniture, with which he was 
familiar, suited him, and that, in so far as his own 
comfort was concerned, he would not spend a penny 
on fine furniture. Moreover, he hoped and believed 
that his patients would miss nothing of the sort. 

His mother submitted with a sigh. Contrary to 
her expectation, she had failed to find an ally in 
Theresa. She positively took no interest whatever 
in the appointments of the doctor’s part of the 
house. 

“ Oh, he may do as he chooses about that,” said 
she to her future mother-in-law. “ If it is good 
enough for him, I have no fault to find.” 

A delicious May-day diffused joy over the face of 
earth. Nature was a perfect sea of bloom. This 
afternoon, Theresa was to entertain her friends for 
the last time, as a young girl. Julia had declined 
the invitation, on account of being so busy with her 
packing. Just at this moment, she was sitting in 
her little garret-room, engaged in painting. She 


2 10 


Miss Mischief. 


was just giving the last strokes of the brush to a 
large majolica plaque that was to serve as a wed- 
ding-present. 

Already there was nothing left up here to betray 
that she had spent here the few bright hours of her 
life, for she had striven to remove every little token 
of her occupation. When she should have packed 
in her trunk her palette, colors and other painting 
materials, not a trace would be left of her. Would 
that she could as easily expunge the traces that had 
been impressed upon her here, upon just as sunny a 
May-day, the year before ! 

Now she laid aside her brush, and proceeded to 
examine her work. Upon the fine-toned, yellowish 
surface of the plaque was depicted a gnarled bough, 
with decaying leaves, so well drawn that it seemed as 
if one could pick it up and carry it away ; below it, 
only sketchily indicated, was a broad, illimitable 
sheet of water, behind which the sun was sinking, 
while above it moved a flight of birds with out- 
stretched wings, escaping from the winter. This 
was all, and yet in this little was expressed the long- 
ing of a heart that seeks sunshine and love as that 
feathered host does a warm country. 

This was done unconsciously, for she had fully 
proposed to paint nothing that could betray her 
grief, her love ; and yet this little work spoke it 
plainly enough. 

She got up and left the room, carefully carrying 
her work with her. She knew the very place for it 
in what was to be the young people’s dining-room, 
and wanted to hang it against the wall, as a last 


Nature and Love Smile . 


21 1 


m Lite greeting. The elegant rooms would now be 
forsaken, she was quite sure, for it was time for the 
afternoon nap. The key to the hall-door she had 
secretly abstracted from the key-basket of Aunt 
Minna, who was still, for the time being, guardian 
of this glory, and thus she entered the apartments 
that were so soon to shelter a young pair arrived at 
the summit of human bliss. 

She did not pause to consider more closely the 
splendor of the abode, but went directly into the 
dining-room, where she meant to deposit her gift. 
It was the same room that had formerly been occu- 
pied by little Frederick Adami. It was an ideal 
banqueting-room foi a small family, with its tim- 
bered roof, its wainscoated walls and deep window- 
recesses, as little to be recognized now, it is true, as 
the old entrance-hall below. The wainscoting had 
been richly decorated, the part ol the walj not 
wainscoted being covered with costly embossed 
leather, and the g*eat, homely porcelain-stove had 
given way to an old-fashioned open fire-place where, 
in winter, bright flames would woo to domestic 
enjoyment. In the middle of the room, where the 
boy’s desk used to stand, arose resplendent a dining- 
table of massive oak, surrounded by high-backed 
chairs upholstered in leather. At all events, this 
room looked so grand that one would have been 
ashamed to serve and eat a simple lunch there. 

Julia took from her apron-pocket a bronze-headed 
nail and a hammer, fastening her present over the 
Servian-table, whose majolica top matched her 
plaque well. A bronzed palm-leaf behind it, and 


212 


Miss Mischief. 


the simple decoration was complete. She stepped 
back to the nearest window to judge of the effect 
from there ; meanwhile, her eyes were fixed upon 
it, to be sure, but they had sudden.ly a vacant, far- 
away look. As though very tired, she dropped into 
one of the trunk-like seats in the deep window- 
recess. It was oppressively silent up here. Even 
the pendulum of the costly clock swung with 
ghostly solemnity. And suddenly it seemed to the 
girl as though the spirits of the future were hover- 
ing near. 

“Will happiness abide here — will it — will it?” 
ticked the clock. And Miss Mischief shook her 
head and clasped her hands together. She could 
not believe so. And then, close to her, in one of the 
small panes of window-glass, which the decorator 
had magnanimously left in because it suited the 
character of the room, she caught sight of a heart 
inartistically cut into it, and, underneath, the ini- 
tials : “ F. A.— T. K.” 

Fred must have done that. And there welled up 
in the (girl’s soul unspeakable bitterness, rage and 
immeasurable contempt. Oh, if she could only one 
single time hold up before that faithless creature 
a mirror that would clearly show her the vileness 
of her hypocrisy ! 

Mechanically Julia passed her slender fingers 
over the little heart, as though she could thus wipe 
it off the glass ; but in vain ; it was too deeply 
engraven. 

“ Julia !” suddenly cried out a clear merry voice 


Nature and Love Smile . 


213 


at her side. “ Why, I might have been frightened 
to death ! How come you here ?” 

Julia arose quickly. 

“ Excuse me,” she said, with an effort. “ I had a 
little thing to do here.” 

“What have you been putting on that glass?” 
asked Theresa, bending down her fair head ; but 
abruptly she started back looking at Julia with 
flashing eyes and pallid countenance. 

Since Theresa had known that Julia had kept the 
secret of her engagement to Fred ; since she had 
known that the girl was going to leave the house — 
she had become more careless. No doubt, Julia 
herself considered her trifling with Fred’s affections 
a mere bagatelle. For of that ill-timed visit of Fred’s 
and of the ensuing consequences, Julia could have 
no inking. What, then, meant these threatening, 
reproachful eyes ? 

“ It was Fred’s room,” said Julia, hoarsely. 
Theresa made no reply. “ And he must have cut 
that heart there when you and he were engaged, 
about a year ago.” 

“Why do you bring that up to-day?” asked 
Theresa, defiantly. “You would like to publish the 
affair, I suppose, as a good joke, on the eve of my 
wedding-day !” 

“ I — I shall not be here on your wedding-eve, as 
you know, and that sad affair has never struck me 
as a fit subject for a joke,” answered Miss Mischief, 
quietly. “ On the contrary, I wish you as much 
happiness as this world can give, for henceforth 
your happiness is identical with that of a rare man, 


214 


Miss Mischief 


and jour tranquillity and his are one. And if I 
might live to see you really happy together, 1 
believe that then — then I could forgive you much.” 

The color came back into the beautiful girl’s face. 
No, Miss Mischief would never tell the tale of that 
foolish engagement, out of regard for him. For, as 
Minna had betrayed to her, this proud, beggarly 
thing was over head and ears in love with the doc- 
tor. And Theresa smiled like the May-day out-of- 
doors. 

“ Let his happiness be my care, please, although 
your ideas of what happiness is doubtless differ 
very materially from mine. Trust me, though, we 
shall get along very well together, even without 
your blessing ! When do you actually set off ?” 

“ To-morrow !” was the short reply. 

“ Well, then, we shall probably not see each other 
again. Farewell ! 1 wish you happiness for the 

future, as sincerely as you do me.” 

“ Farewell, Theresa; 1 hope that we may meet as 
friends, in later life.” 

“ Why,” said the person addressed, somewhat 
ironically. “ I really cannot imagine what should 
make me your enemy !” 

Julia was silent. 

“ l believe that I could hate intensely,” she then 
said in a low tone ; and again her eyes wandered to 
the window-pane. 

Then she felt herself thrust aside with a push, and 
the next minute the fragments of the broken glass 
fell with a clatter upon the pavement of the yard 
below. 


Nature and Love Smile. 


215 


“ There,” asked Theresa’s quivering voice, “ are 
you pacified now?” 

Julia slightly shrugged her shoulders. 

“ What had the innocent glass to do with it? Pity 
that one cannot as easily get rid of all disturbing 
causes ?” And, turning away, she passed through 
the door. 

“ If she were only gone !” murmured Theresa, 
gloomily, as she followed the retreating figure with 
her eyes. And then a bright smile lit up her beau- 
tiful face. The doctor stood upon the threshold. 

“ Broken glass— and to-day?” he exclaimed, cheer- 
fully. 

She laughed. 

“ I awkwardly broke a pane. But doesn’t that 
bring good luck ?” 

“Have you hurt yourself?” asked he tenderly, 
drawing her to him. 

She smiled up at him. 

“ No, no! Isn’t it lovely here? Is it not just as 
pretty as can be?” 

He nodded assent, but did not look around, his 
gaze being riveted upon her own beloved features. 

“ I can hardly yet believe that you are actually to 
be mine/’ he whispered. “But come! Up here is 
the paradise that is still forbidden to me. Come, 
lest we provoke the anger of the gods.” 



CHAPTER XVII. 

DESTINY MAKES STRANGE SPORT. 

A balmy night followed that glorious May-day. 
For the last time, Miss Mischief looked out upon the 
blooming garden where the modest games of her 
childhood had been played. The morning would 
already find her at the post of duty; it might be 
standing at a death-bed. She did not dread the 
future. All that she wanted was work — plenty of 
work. Anything was better than the leisure that 
rouses the memory and does not allow the wounds 
of the soul to heal. 

She would have preferred not to go to sleep at all 
but to take advantage of the first boat that passed 
in the morning, and to have gone off without any 
leave-taking. How she shrank from that leave- 
taking, which, to her, was synonymous with the loss 
of youth and bliss ! 

Quite softly she closed the window, that her aunt, 
who was close by, might not be disturbed ; that 
strange old maid, who never had a kindly glance or 
a loving word for her, and to whom she was, never- 
theless, bound to be grateful; for she had given the 
[216] 


Destmy makes Strange Sport. 


217 


orphan child a home under her roof — had fed, 
clothed and sent her to school. 

Did she not hear her call, even now ? Miss Mis- 
chief listened, in alarm. No ; it was not a call but 
a hollow groan. The next instant found the young 
girl at the foot of her aunt’s bed, and the quickly 
ignited candle revealed to her one utterly bereft 
of consciousness, with a face distorted by pain. 

She flew through the hall, the reception-room and 
office, and then beat with her little list against the 
doctor’s door. 

“ Fritz ! Fritz ! Aunt is dying !” 

Then she awakened Minna, and the next minute 
was again by the sufferer, supporting with her 
strong, young arms the moaning patient, who was 
vainly trying to articulate. 

“ A severe stroke of apoplexy, Mischief,” said the 
physician, mournfully, after he had examined the 
poor thing and given her all the relief that he could. 
They stood together in the dark sitting-room adjoin- 
ing the sick-room, and the cool night air came 
gently in. Minna had been left with her sister. 

“You may as well prepare yourself for a long 
siege of nursing, poor little Mischief,” continued the 
doctor. 

She started back, feeling a disposition to cry out : 
“ It is impossible ! I dare not stay here !” But 
speedily her head sank again ; yes, indeed, she was 
the one nearest to her — she — Who else was 
to attend to the lonely, embittered woman ? And 
yet — “ Have mercy on me ! Oh, have mercy !” 
she murmured. 


1 


2l8 


Miss Mischief. 


He did not comprehend her. 

“ Perhaps she— and you, too — will soon be 
released, for a second stroke of apoplexy would 
soon put an end to her poor life ; but then, again, 
existence may be prolonged to her, but she will be 
a helpless, paralyzed woman, who cannot do with- 
out you.” 

“ I know ! I know !” she ejaculated. “ Please, 
say no more. Yes, I ’ll stay.” 

He pressed her hand, and returned to the patient’s 
bedside. Instead of him, his mother came out, 
weeping and lamenting: 

“ Well, there is but one thing that could add to our 
misery, and that will surely come to pass — she will 
die, most likely, on the very eve of the wedding-day, 
and even if she lives, she will be so sick that Fritz 
must give up his wedding-trip on her account. No, 
that cannot be ! Now, you just telegraph to 
Cologne and tell them that you have enough to do 
at home. With my stiff limbs, I can no longer lift 
and care for the sick. Only to think that things 
should come to such a pass !” 

Julia paid no heed to the wails of the excited 
woman ; she went on in the discharge of her duty 
and, when day dawned, she thought that she recog- 
nized a returning gleam of consciousness in the 
wide-open, staring eyes of her aunt, and she 
responded to her indistinct, painful efforts to articu- 
late, by a few loud words that were accompanied by 
a soft stroking of her cheeks : 

“ Be easy, auntie, I ’ll stay by you ! Do you know 
me ? It is Julia ! Be perfectly easy !” 


Destiny makes Strange Sport. 


219 


And something like a gleam of satisfaction flitted 
across the distorted features of the patient. The 
next day brought no change in the condition of the 
sick woman, but on the evening of the day before 
the marriage, she was able to move her paralyzed 
arm a little. 

Theresa did not want to let anything disturb the 
jollity of this day, and although, at first, Fritz would 
not hear of having music and dancing, she finally 
gained his consent to let the ball proceed, through 
her pretty, coaxing ways. 

“ Yes, Fritz, we must dance once more together 
like merry young folks, for after marriage, father 
says, it is all over with dancing and gayety. And 
from to-morrow morning, you know, I shall belong 
to you, but to-day, Fritz — to-day — ” 

He visited his old aunt once more, before he went 
to the bride’s house, to the festival that was to pre- 
cede his wedding-day. Out-of-doors, the sun was 
sinking behind a mass of clouds, and in the dim twi- 
light Julia sat, motionless, at the window, in the old- 
fashioned arm-chair. She had leaned her head back 
against the cushion, and did not perceive the young 
man’s approach, until he stood before her. Her 
startled glance told that she observed his being 
in full-dress, and her lips were pressed tightly 
together. 

“ Let me ask just this one thing of you, Julia,” 
said he : “ Please, close the windows of the sick- 
room, so that the music shall not excite aunt. I 
would have preferred to spend the evening quietly, 
but I could not have the heart to thwart Theresa on 


220 


Miss Mischief. 


this last day of her girlhood — especially as she has 
already voluntarily given up our wedding-trip.” 

“ But why was that !” asked she bluntly. “ Things 
are getting along very well, I am here, and ‘ Uncle 
Doctor ’ would come, if any bad symptoms should 
appear.” 

He gave her a searching glance ; she had the same 
sad look as of old. 

Becoming conscious of his scrutiny, she flushed 
painfully. 

“ Oh, please excuse me !” stammered she. “ I was 
merely sorry to have you give up your trip, on 
aunt’s account. As for the rest, what is it to me ?” 

She turned off, ashamed and angry at herself. He 
must have guessed how hard it was for her to be an 
eye-witness of his married happiness. 

“ Go without any anxiety,” she then added. “ I’ll 
attend dutifully to everything here. 

And when he was gone, she carefully closed the 
window of the sick-room, but the one in the ante- 
chamber she opened wide, and, racked by torturing 
sensations, there she sat the livelong night, listening 
to the sounds of music and revelry that sounded so 
clearly in her ears ; and thus she was still sitting 
when, in the gray of dawn, mother and son came 
home. 

“ Getting hardened,” she called it with a bitter 
smile. 

The next day, she had not once left the sick-room, 
when the newly-married pair piously drew near the 
couch of the sufferer, who had again recovered full 
consciousness. She stood at the foot of the bed, and 


Destiny makes Strange Sport. 


221 


with wide-open eyes gazed at the bride, enveloped 
in white satin and lace, who, with her peach-bloom 
complexion and golden hair, looked more charming 
than ever under the misty purity of her vail. Then 
the couple turned to go. The doctor did not look 
up. He appeared not to have noticed the pale, 
proudly erect maiden at the foot of the bed. 
Silently he laid Theresa’s hand upon his arm; and 
she looked neither to the right nor the left. 

Hereupon Miss Mischief stepped forward and 
stood in their way. 

“ Accept my congratulations also,” said she plead- 
ingly, holding out her hand first to him and then to 
his young wife. 

Hesitatingly Theresa touched the right hand 
proffered her, and directly afterward her long, lace- 
trimmed train rustled across the threshold. 

And still, weirdly still, it became in that house ; 
for the wedding-feast was to take place in “ Die 
Traube ,” and the very servants were there, either 
as waiters or spectators. 

Julia sat by her aunt’s bedside. Slowly, slowly 
the shades of evening advanced, and the moon rose 
from behind the tall trees. The patient slept, and 
still nobody was at home. 

Julia got up and passed through the hall, to see 
whether the front door was locked. They would be 
likely to return through the garden, the gate of 
which stood wide open. A streak of moonlight fell 
upon the marble flagstones, plainly showing the 
flowers that had been scattered there early in the 
day. She stood in the shadow of the door, breath- 


222 


Miss Mischief. 


ing the fragrant air, which was sultry, as if a storm 
were coming on. On the other side of the Rhine, 
every now and then, quivered flashes of forked 
lightning, while near at hand sang the nightingales 
in the garden, too loud, though, for her overstrained 
senses. 

Then the little iron gate clicked, and Julia saw 
the gleaming of a fluttering white robe. It was the 
bridal couple coming home. 

Trembling, she flew across the hall to the sick- 
room and again seated herself at the slumberer’s 
bedside. How the hours passed she did not know. 
She found herself, next morning, shivering with 
cold, resting her aching head against the foot of the 
old lady’s bed. 

What a leaden weight seemed attached to every 
limb and what a dull sense of anguish in her bosom ! 
What had happened? She drew herself up and 
pressed her hands against her throbbing temples, 
when her glance fell upon a small sprig of myrtle 
that lay on the floor by the bed. It must have fallen 
from the bride’s vail when Theresa knelt there. 

Ah, yes! She knew now: They were man and 
wife ! 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

A CONJUGAL TETE-A-TETE. 

Two years have elapsed. 

Miss Rika Trautmann had proved to have a 
powerful constitution. She spoke again and had 
full use of her mental faculties, but, alas, had never 
recovered the use of her limbs. Julia had to dress 
and tend her like an infant. 

“ She does everything so conscientiously/’ said 
the old spinster to her nephew, “ but as coldly and 
mechanically as a slave. Not a symptom of friend- 
ship, not a trace of that which is the true balsam to 
apply to the wounds of such a poor Lazarus as I am. 
Of love — ” 

It was a hot day in the beginning of August when 
she thus lamented. 

The young doctor had just returned from paying 
his round of visits to his patients, and looked at her 
vacantly, as though he had to call in his thoughts 
from the far-away. 

“You want to reap a harvest of love, aunt, when 
you have never sown a grain of the same in this 
heart which you criticise,” said he, quietly. 

[223] 


4 


224 


Miss Mischief 


A vivid color suddenly flushed the sunken fea- 
tures of her who lay before him. 

“ Well, and so you have news of Fred?” said he, 
leading her away from the subject in hand. “ I 
heard it from my mother, who gave Theresa this 
piece of news. Is he getting along well ?” 

“ Yes, thank God ! Will you not take the letter 
upstairs with you ? It is quite interesting. Per- 
haps Theresa would like to read it, too. But go 
now ; she will certainly be keeping breakfast for 
you by this time. Have you already seen your boy 
this morning ?” 

“ Yes,” said he, and his face lighted up. “ Dame 
Doris is walking him in the garden.” 

He took the letter that lay on the stand, more out 
of politeness than curiosity, and took his leave. 
After he had quickly changed his coat, he stepped 
into his wife’s boudoir. She was not there. He 
now knew that he would surely find her in her 
dressing-room. He was right. Theresa had gotten 
from her father the present of a new costume, that 
was evidently meant for a travelling-suit, and she 
was trying it on. She smilingly turned toward him 
her rosy face. 

“Well, how are your two ill patients getting 
along?” queried she. “ Will they let us get off?” 

“ I can give you no decided answer yet, my dear,” 
he answered, gazing upon her with rapture, in her 
jaunty new suit. “ But a few days will make no 
difference, will it ?” 

“ I beg your pardon— a great deal ! People are 
already remarking that you have never travelled,” 


A Conjugal Tete-a - Tete. 


225 


quickly retorted she. “ No difference, indeed ! 
Why it is the height of the season now at Ostend. 
A few weeks later, and our three weeks’ stay will 
fall in September, and in September, you know, 
only those people go who want to live cheaply. 
Not a single man of distinction is to be found there, 
nor any woman of fashion ; there will no longer be 
any display of fine dressing; the fare will be worse ; 
in short — it is horrid !” 

“ My poor little darling !” smiled he, consolingly. 
“ 1 am indeed afraid that these two patients are 
going to interfere sadly with our plans.” 

“ And do you say that so composedly asked she, 
adjusting two rich gray ribbons into a stylish bow, 
at the waist of her silk wrap that he helped her to 
put on. 

“Yes. What am I to do? I cannot tear my hair 
out, on that account.” 

“ What they say is certainly true, that you doc- 
tors are the slaves of human society,” said she, very 
deliberately, “ and that — ” 

“When one has married a doctor, she too becomes 
a sort of slave,” said he finishing her sentence. 
“ Well, at all events, you are a fascinating little slave, 
and I am unspeakably sorry that possibly this really 
charming toilette must be content with displaying 
itself to admiring eyes on the deck of a Rhine- 
steamer.” He comically heaved a deep sigh. “Yes, 
seriously, wifie, those poor people are badly off. 
God knows when we can set out on our trip. ” 

She answered not a word, but continued to devote 
her attention to the tying of her sash, humming an 


226 


Miss Mischief. 


air softly to herself. Finally the bow set to please 
her. With her slender fingers she snipped off a tiny 
bit of the ends, slowly undid the knot, laid off her 
mantle and exchanged her new suit for a pretty 
morning-gown, all the while singing in an undertone, 
and rejecting the kiss which he wanted to imprint 
upon her fair white arm. And when she was done, 
she said : 

“ Now we ’ll have breakfast.” 

“ You always do the correct thing !” he cried. 

When they sat opposite each other in the cool 
dining-room she remarked : 

“ Nothing will go awry here if I should take the 
trip with papa alone. At any rate, just taste this 
mutton-chop and these fried apples. Susy cooked 
them, without any help at all." 

He laid down his knife and fork and, utterly dis- 
concerted, fixed his eyes upon his charming 
vis-h-vis. 

“ You can come afterward, if you find time, 
later,” she went on, putting between her lips a 
tempting morsel of potato-chips. 

“ Are you in earnest?” 

“ Of course I am. You may be a slave as much as 
you choose, but 1 decline to be yoked with you. 
What are those strangers to me, with their typhus- 
fever ?” 

“ It will be very lonesome here for us, the boy and 
me,” said he, finally. 

“For goodness’ sake, Fritz, what are you talking 
about ? Do you think 1 would leave the baby 


A Conjugal Tetc-a-Tete . 


227 


behind ? No ; that boy, with his nurse, goes with 
me to Ostend.” 

“ No, darling; the boy stays with his nurse in the 
country, to be fed longer on the milk of the brindle 
cow, that has been fattened up and dieted specially 
for his use.” 

Now, Mistress Theresa, in her turn, laid down 
knife and fork and with astonishment and curiosity 
stared at her husband on account of this unwonted 
opposition to her wishes. 

“ There is the best of milk at Ostend,” she then 
said dryly ; “ besides, we have the new cooking 
apparatus with 11s, by means of which any noxious 
qualities that the milk may have are removed. And 
I will not set out without the child ! All mothers 
take their little ones' with them !” 

“ Nevertheless, you will have to make up your 
mind to it, if you will not stay here, for I shall, in no 
case, consent to the child being exposed to those 
dangers that so young a creature must incur, under 
a totally altered condition of life.” 

“ But, love, you act as if the boy were your sole 
property,” see replied, in greatest tranquillity. 
“ Only consider that mothers certainly have the first 
right to their little ones! What is to become of 
him without me ?” 

He could but laugh in spite of himself. 

“ One would think the little fellow is hardly ever 
out of your arms, while the fact is that Nurse Doris 
has almost entire charge of him. Besides, 1 am 
here to supervise, and I need not assure you that 


228 


Miss Mischief. 


during your absence I shall redouble my watchful- 
ness as regards the care taken of him.” 

“ And how, if you were to join me after a while?” 

“ Why, there would still be three grown women 
in the house to see that no harm came to him,” 
replied he, still half laughing and half in earnest. 
“ In the first place, there is his grandmother,” con- 
tinued he, “ who is ever ready to wear herself out, 
as she has already done the soles of her shoes, in 
seeing the little fellow as often as possible — ” 

“ Your mother may see him as often as she 
pleases, but 1 do not want her to trouble herself 
about his bring up, or to interfere with Doris’s 
management of him, as she likes to do, and naturally 
would have a right to do, when I am gone. By the 
way, she has never forgiven me for not using those 
three yards of swathing-cloth that had been put on 
you when a baby, and cannot comprehend why I 
will not put a quilted cap on the poor little fellow’s 
head when he is carried out fora walk on the finest of 
summer days.” 

“ Ah, Theresa, I have explained all that to her. 
She just loves the child tenderly and — ” 

“ Well, and now comes, as second guardian, Aunt 
Rika, I suppose, who needs a nurse for herself.” 

“ Well, 1 grant that we cannot depend upon Aunt 
Rika for much, but do not forget Julia.” 

Now Theresa’s eyes flashed. 

“ I must beg of you to consider Julia as having no 
concern whatever with this affair!” she exclaimed. 
“ I have good reason to believe that she cannot 
bear me ; and neither does she like my child,” 


A Conjugal Tete-a- Tele. 


229 


“Theresa, you are unjust !” 

“ No,” answered the excited young woman, “ I 
am not! If you did not have that foolishly senti- 
mental compassion for her, such as men always feel 
in their inmost souls for women whom they believe 
to have been in love with them, you would long ago 
have noticed the marked aversion that this Miss 
Mischief shows toward me and my child as well. 
Why, she positively quite looks down upon me !” 

“Because you are a head shorter than she,” sug- 
gested he, composedly. 

“ I am in no mood to jest just now,” cried she. 
“ If I say anything, Miss Julia contemptuously curls 
her lip. If I am playing with the baby, I see her 
dark eyes fixed upon me so strangely that I can use 
no words to express it but— just hungrily. She 
envies me that boy. And if we are all three 
together, then she turns off and goes into her own 
room, as though the sight of us was poison. She is 
a dreadfully envious character.” 

“ Who told you that she once loved me ?” asked 
he, quietly ; and his eyes looked beyond her to the 
majolica plaque that Julia had painted for a wed- 
ding present. 

“ My own little bit of sense, doctor, and your 
own mother.” 

“ Ah !” 

“ And that you have ever been deeply touched 
through this consideration, I am again told by my 
own reason and my own eyes.” 

“ Ah, indeed !” 


230 


Miss Mischief. 


He suddenly cleared his throat, swallowed a glass 
of wine, and then said with distinct voice : 

“ So it is settled. The boy stays here with Nurse 
Doris, under my supervision.” 

There was scrutiny in the nervous glance that she 
cast upon her husband’s countenance. Since, how- 
ever, she could distinguish nothing but an expres- 
sion of great determination that hardly admitted of 
contradiction, she sighed, began to pare a peach, 
and then remarked : 

“ One must just make up one’s mind to be again 
the wiser and yield.” 

“In that you do well, little woman.” 

“ Are you not glad that I am not jealous of — that 
Julia?” asked she now, laughingly, holding out to 
him one-half of the peach. 

“ I really find nothing in it to call for great self- 
gratulat.ion. It is perfectly normal,” replied he. “ I 
should be extremely glad to know that she is not 
jealous. You are aware that there is no place in my 
heart for any other image than yours and that of our 
boy.” 

She had risen from her seat and came over to him, 
imprinting a kiss upon his brow. 

“ After all, you are a good, silly old fellow,” said 
she. 

He held her fast and drew her down upon his 
knee. 

“ And I hope,” laughed he, “ that your heart is 
built upon precisely the same model as mine — that 
is to say, has no room in it for anyone but my boy 
and me,” 


A Conjugal Tete-a-Tete . 


231 


She tossed her head. 

“ And if it were not so ?” whispered she; and, full 
of coquetry, her biue eyes beamed upon him. 

“ Theresa, you are not to jest upon such a subject.” 

“ Never mind that,” persisted she. “ Tell me 
what you would do if you should discover that any 
other man besides yourself — ” 

He did not answer, for one instant of introspection 
seemed to have revealed to him the horrors of such 
a situation, and the young wife was horrified, so 
livid became his features, so fixed his eyes. 

“ Do not, pray, Fritz ?” cried she. “ It was only 
a joke !” 

And she shook him by the shoulder, turning pale 
herself. 

“ What would 1 do?” said he, in hollow tone. “ I 
do not know ; it would be given to me at the time ; 
but I can understand how murder is the outcome of 
such jealousy.” 

She got up and shivered as though taken with a 
chill. 

And now he sought to soothe her. 

“ You foolish little woman, that comes of your 
silly question. Why talk of things that lie outside 
of the domain of the possible ? Come, take a sip of 
wine and go to papa. Tell him that I put my most 
precious possession under his charge, to escort to 
Ostend. And set off soon, the earlier ^o return.” 

He kissed her once more and went down-stairs. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

BAD NEWS. 

Julia sat by Aunt Rika’s rolling-chair under the 
nut-tree in the garden. The old lady looked dream- 
ily into the distance, while Julia read aloud the 
newspaper to her. Aunt Minna was stringing beans, 
but, none the less, keeping a sharp lookout upon the 
child’s carriage that the nurse was trundling to and 
fro upon the sidewalk next the wall. The shrill 
voice of the old woman was distinctly heard here, as 
she incessantly poured forth an unintelligible jargon 
of endearing terms that the boy responded to in a 
baby’s equally mysterious way. 

Minna’s countenance expressed displeasure and 
suspicion ; the old nurse’s resembled that of an 
angered lioness from whom they want to take her 
young. Mistress Theresa had set out on her travels 
the day before and, already early this morning, 
grandmother and Doris had been disputing over the 
bed of this slumbering little world’s wonder, and 
the doctor himself had hardly been able to smooth 
down this ruffled spirit. 

[232] 


Bad News. 


2 33 


Julia’s deep, pleasant voice was suddenly inter- 
rupted by a shrill call from Minna : 

“ Drive on, this minute, out of that glaring- sun- 
shine ! Do you want the little cherub to have a 
sunstroke ?” 

The nurse acted as though she heard nothing, 
placidly chattering away to her charge: 

“ Never mind, you precious thing, you ! You just 
live in the pretty sunshine, you do ! You love the 
air and sunshine, don’t you, pet ? Yes, yes, the dear, 
good sunshine !” 

“ That woman must leave this house directly, or 
I ’ll have a stroke of apoplexy !” stammered the old 
lady. 

Julia had let her paper drop while the dispute 
lasted, and now read on to the end of a leading 
article. 

“ Please look to see if there is any news from 
Africa.” 

“ I have looked already, aunt, but there is noth- 
ing,” answered the young girl. 

“ Not among the dispatches either?” 

Julia looked among the dispatches. 

“ Paris — London — Madrid — Zanibar,” she mur- 
mured. 

All at once she held the large paper close before 
her face and the sheet trembled in her hand. 

“ Why do you tremble ?” asked the old lady. 

Slowly the sheet was lowered ; the pale but rigid 
features of the girl were again visible. 

“ Did I tremble ?” asked she. “ There is nothing 
in it from Africa.” 


2 34 


Miss Mischief 


At this moment, in the fullness of her rage, Aunt 
Minna darted off to give the hated child’s nurse a 
piece of her mind. 

Aunt Rika looked steadily at her adopted daughter. 

“Am I to read on?” asked Julia, the accents of 
her voice being strangely altered. 

“ Is there really no news from Africa in that 
paper ?” 

Julia shook her head, and looked toward the 
doctor, who was just returning from his round of 
calls, in the glowing August sun, clad in a light- 
gray summer-suit, a straw hat in his hand, and 
wiping his forehead with his handkerchief. She 
pretended to have something to do behind the old 
lady’s chair, looking toward the man approaching 
and laid her finger upon her lips. 

The doctor came quietly forward, seated himself, 
and began to talk of various things. Julia went 
forward to meet his mother, who, with the sense of 
her superiority both as grandmother and mistress, 
came back with her head on high. 

“ I should like to tell you something, aunt. 
Please come down here with me a moment,” said 
Julia. “ I have just read in the newspaper that 
Fred has been wounded in a fight with the natives ; 
but Aunt Rika is not to know about it.” 

The old lady clasped her hands together. 

“ Severely wounded, of course !” exclaimed she. 
“ And that is as good as to say that he is dead !” 

Julia kept silence. 

“And you !” cried Minna, working herself into a 
passion. “There you stand, and do not say a 


Bad Neivs. 


235 


word! What sort of a girl are you? And it is 
your own brother that is concerned, too. I never 
could bear the conceited jackanapes ; and yet it 
goes to the heart to see him punished so ; that he 
must perish so miserably out yonder among savages, 
without a soul near that belongs to him !" 

Julia did not defend herself against this reproach. 

“ All I ask is : Please do not make aunt uneasy," 
she implored. “You had better not go where she 
is now ; she is so observant and suspicious she 
would find out directly that something has hap- 
pened." 

“ SI) 7 as I am," answered the old lady, “ I would 
rather not see the poor creature just now. Go fetch 
the newspaper and bring it to me in the kitchen, for 
I want to read it." 

“ Well," soliloquized she, as she moved on, “ either 
he will die or come back an invalid to lie up, high 
and dry, to be supported by us. God in heaven 
forgive me, I would rather he had been killed out- 
right r 

After dinner, when the unsuspecting old lady was 
sleeping in her cool chamber, Julia sat by the 
window in her own room, motionless, her hands in her 
lap and the newspaper before her that had brought 
these brief, momentous tidings. Now, too, not a 
feature in her face betrayed emotion; only her 
small mouth was more firmly compressed than usual. 
She kept it so always now. Julia had long since 
recognized the fact that no wrestling nor lamenting 
could avert a stroke of fate, and her personal sensi- 


236 


Miss Mischief. 


bilities seemed to have been permanently blunted ; 
she only felt through her care for others. 

Now she only thought that the news of the wound- 
ing or, maybe, death of the old lady’s favorite 
would be like a dagger-thrust in some vital part, 
from which she could not recover. She was think- 
ing that, perhaps, Fred had courted death, because 
he could not forget Theresa, and that she would be 
utterly alone when she had no longer a brother. For 
how like a stranger she was in the midst of these 
people, in whose company she had, nevertheless, 
passed her life, as it were ! She was linked to her 
patient, even, only by piety and a sense of duty. She 
was thus making a return to the benefactress who 
had furnished her with food and shelter when she 
came to her, orphaned and an outcast. But she had 
never been able to reason herself into a warmer 
affection for the old lady. And Fritz? With all the 
force of a strong will, she had curbed her heart in 
its devotion to him ; and she now regarded him 
with cold indifference, and only a gleam of impotent 
rage would now and then fire up when he wanted to 
compassionate her. 

But this, too, she kept to herself. There was no 
outward sign of it, save a contemptuous curling of 
the lip, when, especially in the beginning of his mar- 
ried life, he had tried to vail his fondness and hap- 
piness in her presence ; if, upon her entrance, he 
would let drop the hand of his young wife, which he 
had just pressed to his lips, or when he would try, 
by a great effort, to withdraw his eyes from the con- 
templation of her rosy countenance. 


Bad Nezvs. 


237 


She would then smile bitterly, as she did again 
when he attempted to conceal from her his anxiety 
about the life of that beloved wife the time that her 
infant was expected. But his pale, agonized counten- 
ance during the hours that preceded the appear- 
ance of the little one had been like a revelation to 
her. How dearly that woman must be loved ! 

“ Show me your child, Fritz!” she had then asked 
of him ; and had gone up with him into those 
elegant rooms, and he had brought out a bundle 
containing the new-born babe, and allowed her to 
inspect the little creature. And above the head of 
the little one their glances had met. 

Miss Mischief did not know that she had looked 
at the man with an expression that sent a pang to 
his jubilant heart. At that moment, the proud 
dignified girl reminded him of a freezing, hungry 
beggar-child who looks with feverish longing into a 
brightly lit parlor, on Christmas Eve, and in the 
grandeur that she beholds forgets how poor she is. 
In those dark, lustrous eyes was read rapture over 
the tiny sleeping creature. 

“ Ah, how sweet !” whispered she, and stretched 
out her arms. 

Just then Theresa’s faint voice was heard from the 
adjoining room, and the arms fell and the curtaining 
lashes drooped lower than ever over her eyes. 

The child was taken from him ; he attended Julia 
to the door with a heart full of delight and pity, and 
then it was that he was guilty of a breach of tact in 
his treatment of the girl. He stroked her cheek 
and said : 


238 


Miss Mischief. 


“ You, too, will be happy some day, Mischief.” 

The cold repulse that he met with, however, 
speedily silenced him. Since then, she had neither 
asked after the child nor ever even looked at it if it 
were brought past her. She did not love the child ! 
So at least thought the inmates of the house. 

“Whoever cannot bear children has no heart!” 
said Minna to her, and added, in bewilderment : 
“ And, in spite of this, the little simpleton laughs 
when he sees you and calls out : ‘ Ula !’ Such an 
innocent !” 

They did not know that the little boy and “ Ula ” 
had cemented a friendship in secret; that the old 
dragon of a child’s nurse would intrust her jewel to 
the quiet, beautiful girl without the slightest reluc- 
tance. They had a regular standing engagement, 
those two, namely, at the time when mother and 
grandmother would be invited out to tea, the doctor 
visiting his patients and Aunt Rika napping. Then 
she would slip upstairs, kneel by the crib and play 
with the boy, patiently allowing him to pull at her 
hair with his chubby little fists. She taught him his 
first, lesson in the art of speech, showing him how 
to say “ papa,” and then she passionately clasped 
him to her heart. 

“ Oh, you darling !” she whispered. “ I could die 
for you !” 

“ Don’t tear the boy to pieces!” then scolded the 
old woman, who used to sit by the window and knit 
stockings for her charge. “ And you had much 
better live; any one with that mother will have need 
enough of such a good aunt.” 


Bad News . 


239 


Dame Doris could not at all conceal her aversion 
for both mother and grandmother. 

Julia never replied to such onslaughts, and, at the 
slightest suspicious noise, vanished from the cosy 
nursery. Once she had not time for escape, and 
with beating heart, took refuge behind the curtain 
that served Dame Doris for a wardrobe ; and there, 
with closed eyes and compressed lips, she had 
listened to all the terms of endearment lavished by 
the father upon his pet. How soft his voice 
sounded! Julia knew that cadence; long ago he 
had spoken to her in the same tone. And she had 
thought she could not bear to hear him speak so ; 
she must shriek in her agony if he did not stop. 
Thank God, he was called away, and she could 
accomplish her flight ! 

Suddenly Julia started from her reverie; the 
clock in the adjoining room had sounded the hour 
when she was accustomed to pay her visit to Dame 
Doris’s dominions. Quickly she rose from her seat 
and glided lightly up to the nursery ; but nurse and 
child were both asleep, the old woman in her chair 
and the little one in his cradle. Julia knelt before 
the little bed and took her fill of gazing upon him 
whose existence crowned with such joy the lives of 
others. All at once she started up and, with 
anxious face, sought to reach the door, but this time 
she did not succeed in making good her escape. 
The doctor stood before her, and greeted her pres- 
ence with astonished eyes. 

“ You here ?” he asked. 


240 


Miss Mischief 


And he thoughtof his wife’s declaration that Julia 
hated the child. 

“ I beg pardon,” said she, defiantly, making the 
attempt to pass him. 

“ Wait a second!” said he quietly. “ I was look- 
ing for you down-stairs. Here is a telegram from 
Fred. At his own desire, they have put him on 
board a man-of-war coming directly to Germany. 
Such are the laconic contents of the telegram, that 
I obtained through the medium of the Bureau of 
Foreign Affairs at Berlin. Nothing is said as to his 
condition ; but since they risk his transportation, 
there must be hope of his recovery — He is com- 
ing, then !” 

A flood of thoughts rushed through Julia’s head. 

“ Here ?” stammered she. 

“Whither else should he come? His home is 
with us !” 

“ He is not to come!” said she, in a tone of deep 
distress. 

“What means that?” asked the doctor, straight- 
ening himself out of his stooping posture. He had 
been watching the slumbering child; 

“ Nothing!” answered she and left the room. 

Julia got no sleep that night. There ever rose 
before her eyes two youthful figures, as they sat 
opposite one another in the boat, exchanging love- 
looks — Fred and Theresa. Could persons who had 
thus looked at one another ever forget ? 

With aching head she got up next day. 

“He dare not come! He dare not!” said she. 
Then came the spirit of defiance: “ What is it to me?” 



CHAPTER XX. 

HOW THE RETURNED SOLDIER IS RECEIVED. 

“ Well and good, dear sister-in-law ; the wounded 
soldier is to stay with us,” said Mr. Krautner, who 
had long since returned, with his daughter, from 
Ostend ; and, so saying, he emphatically struck the 
pavement with his cane. “ Evidently, there is no 
room here in this house, while I have twelve 
chambers unoccupied. Give yourselves no uneasi- 
ness. He shall lack for nothing at my house, and 
you can see your adopted son just as often as you 
choose. The door in the garden-wall, that l have 
had made for my children, is open to him as well. 
Agreed, then: First Lieutenant Adami takes up 
his quarters with me.” 

Aunt Rika essayed to interpose some objections. 

“ It would answer well enough here. Let him 
come as a son to his mother !” said she, piteously. 
“ And Julia could go up into the garret. 1 would 
have a little stove put up there.” 

“ Perhaps you might have the rabbit-warren 
fitted up for the girl!” exclaimed the old gentleman, 
indignantly. “Nothing of the sort! The lieuten- 

[241] 


2\2 


Miss Mischief. 


ant comes to me. Do you hear, my daughter ?” said 
he, turning to Julia. “ Will it not be best so ?" 

“ Yes!" said the girl, raising her eyes from her 
embroidery. “ Yes ! At all events, I am not going 
into that cold garret under any circumstances." 

Aunt Rika looked up in bewilderment. Never 
before had the girl declined any arrangement out 
of regard for her own personal comfort. This self- 
assertion on her part made the old lady’s nerves 
fairly tingle. 

“ Why, how is this ?" remarked she. “ There was 
a time when one could not get you out of that room, 
and now you will not enter it!” 

“ No, aunt.” 

“ Why not ?” 

She shrugged her shoulders. 

“ Because 1 freeze up there," she answered 
shortly. 

“ Well, it is settled; the lieutenant stays with me," 
once more began the old gentleman. Then, with a 
bow, he was gone. 

Those left behind had nothing to say to each 
other. Miss Rika silently wept. Julia, taking no 
notice of this, only looked up now and then from 
her work, to observe how quickly the snowflakes 
were falling upon this December day. 

“ You will bring him from the railroad station, 
will you not?" at last began Aunt Rika. “ And tell 
him, as gently as you can, that there is no longer 
any room for him in his adoptive mother’s house." 

“ 1 will." 

“ You have acquired such a harsh tone in speaking 


How the Returned Soldier is Received. 243 


Julia, that one dreads to ask anything of you,” 
lamented the old lady. 

“ Ah, indeed !” answered the girl. “ Was I differ- 
ent formerly ?” 

“ Everybody in the house complains of you,” con- 
tinued Aunt Rika. “ It was dreadfully disobliging 
of you not to help them a little upstairs with their 
dancing-partv.” 

“ I know nothing about such things — and then — 
Theresa cannot bear to have me about her.” 

At this moment there was a knock, and Theresa 
entered. She had been with Santa Claus, she said, 
laughing, and had brought something with her. 
And with various playful remarks she unwrapped 
two little packages, handing one to each of the 
ladies. 

Theresa had never before been known to bestow 
any attention upon Julia. The latter at first gazed 
in surprise upon the elegant woman, in her rich vel- 
vet mantle, the brown folds of which were still 
sprinkled with snowflakes. “ For me ?” she asked, 
and at the corners of her mouth was perceptible 
that peculiar twitching of which we have spoken 
before. 

“ Yes, certainly !” ran the affirmative reply ; and 
then Theresa again hurried out. 

“ Well, there you are again convicted upon the 
spot of the injustice of your assertion that Theresa 
cannot bear you,” said Miss Rika. 

“What! By that?” 

Julia did not even take the trouble to open the 
package. She went on with her knitting, while the 


244 


Miss Mischief 


sick woman, with her stiff fingers, laboriously drew 
forth her present from its paper wrapping and 
expressed great pleasure at the pretty little box that 
fell out, probably full of the finest confectionary. 
Julia’s present, however, lay just where it was, in 
the afternoon, when the girl had already gone to the 
station to meet her long-absent brother. 

“ She grows more unbearable every day,” said 
Minna, after she had heard the story of the disre- 
garded gift. “If she had not been so absolutely 
necessary to your comfort, Rika, you would have 
been forced to get rid of her long ago ; but that is 
just the rub.” 

“ That she is so utterly lacking in affection is my 
greatest trouble,” asserted Miss Rika ; and as she 
said this, her old heart thrilled with joy at the 
thought that she was soon to be permitted to clasp 
her beloved boy to her heart. 

“A mother cannot look forward to meeting her 
own son with greater impatience,” murmured Minna; 
and she went back to her own room, to avoid the 
“ comedy” of the reunion. 

A half-hour later, Aunt Rika sat at supper be- 
tween her two adopted children. The old lady’s 
heart was too full to partake of food, but she could 
never be satisfied with the contemplation of the 
tall, handsome man by her side, whose imbrowned 
visage showed hardly a trace of suffering, although 
he still wore his arm in a sling. 

He answered patiently and pleasantly all the con- 
fused questions of the aged woman, who had him to 
tell the particulars of his being wounded four times 


How the Returned Soldier is Received. 245 


in the space of a single hour ; he praised the carp and 
their Rhenish wine ; said to his sister that he found 
her greatly improved in appearance — taller and a 
genuine Roman. He cheerfully agreed to taking 
up his quarters with Mr. Krautner, after he reflected 
that overhead — exactly overhead — Fritz was housed 
with his young wife ; and he listened with polite 
sympathy to the enthusiastic description of “the 
baby/' into which his aunt launched, in the exuber- 
ance of her delight. 

“ And let me tell you, Fred,” she wound up with, 
“they are happy people that dwell upstairs. One 
seldom sees so well matched a couple; and now, 
when they have been married nearly three years, 
they appear to be just as much in love with each 
other as on the day of their betrothal.” 

He once more helped himself to fish. 

“ I am truly rejoiced to hear that,” he said dryly. 

Julia had not the heart to look at him. 

“To-morrow will do for you to pay your visit 
upstairs,” continued Aunt Rika ; “ and to your aunt 
Minna, too, who, also makes her home up there. You 
can see for yourself how the young bloom and the 
old fade away.” 

And tears ran down the old lady’s cheeks, which 
she could not wipe off with her poor, helpless hands. 

“ It is time for you to go to bed,” said Julia, 
finally, in a low voice. 

“ Ah, not so soon ; I cannot sleep yet,” implored 
the aunt. “ Bring out some apples and nuts, Julia ; 
it will then be once more like it was when you were 
children.” 


246 


Miss Mischief, 


Obediently Julia did as she was bidden, and Fred 
began to talk again. Abruptly, though, he hushed, 
and a dark flush suffused his face. Some one was 
playing on the piano overhead. 

“ It is Theresa,” said the old lady, proudly. “ She 
is doing it to please the boy.” 

Julia anxiously scrutinized his countenance. 
Melancholy were the strains that sounded from 
above. The air played was a variation upon the 
song, “ A Wanderer Came With Staff in Hand.” 

“ It is a favorite of Fritz’s,” remarked Julia aloud, 
noisily piling up the plates. And the happy old 
woman softly repeated the words of the song, while 
she stroked the man’s hand : 

“ Sun-burned through his face might be, 

His mother knew at once ’t was he.” 

“ But you do look different from what you did 
when you went away, Fred ; you have grown hand- 
somer, almost as handsome as your father.” 

He suddenly rose to his feet, for the tune upstairs 
had changed to the waltz in “ Faust.” 

“Now, sleep well,” said he; “we are all tired. 
I am not quite so strong myself as I might be ; 
to-morrow I ’ll tell you more. Help me to put on 
my overcoat, Julia. And now, good night ! I still 
know the way.” 

“ No, 1 am going with you,” she objected. And 
so they walked together through the snow-covered 
garden paths. 

“ So, they have a gate here now,” he murmured. 


How the Returned Soldier is Received. 247 


And as though he would shake off, by force, all 
memories of the past, he said aloud : 

“ The old lady has become quite feeble — Ah, how 
d* ye do, Mr. Krautner! 1 am so much indebted to 
you for opening your house to me so hospitably. 
How have you been all this while?” 

Julia, who had instantly turned around upon the 
coming up of Mr. Krautner, heard, nevertheless, the 
old gentleman say : 

“Welcome, lieutenant! How are you, now? 
Have you stood the journey well? Have you 
sobered down a bit, too, as I recommended you to 
do, when we parted last? Yes? Well, 1 am 
delighted at that. Now, come in, and make your- 
self perfectly at home with me !” 

When she got back, the music upstairs had ceased. 
In the hall she met the doctor who had just left his 
study. 

“ Say, Mischief,” asked he, “ am I mistaken, or was 
Theresa actually playing on the piano ?” 

“ Yes, she was playing.” 

“ Wonderful !” he murmured. Then lie turned 
around once more. “ Did your brother get here all 
safe?” 

“ Yes,” answered she laconically, moving rapidly 
out of sight. 

Up in her boudoir, the doctor found his wife 
walking excitedly to and fro. 

“ It is well that you have come,” said she. “ I 
have such a dreadful feeling. I think the wind 
must cause it.” 

“Oh, you little wisdom !” teased he. “There is 


248 


Miss Mischief. 


not a breath of air astir out-of-doors ; it is only 
snowing in great, thick flakes, so that you can have 
a sleigh-ride at Christmas. By the way, have you 
noticed anything about the African?” 

“ I ? No ! What have I to do with him ?” 
answered she, quickly. 

“ Well, don’t be angry! There was no harm in 
my question, love !” 

“ 1 did not think that there was.” 

“ Very well ! But I am glad that you have taken 
to playing on the piano again, dear heart.” 

She made no reply. 



CHAPTER XXI. 

GHOSTS OF THE PAST 

The young officer had now been three weeks at 
home. It was not to be denied that he had “ made 
things hum,” as Doctor Roettger good-humoredly 
said. 

The enmity between the two old playmates 
seemed to have entirely vanished. Although they 
' did not associate from inclination, yet mutual re- 
spect had taken the place of the earlier reserve ; 
each esteemed in the other the able man, who 
devoted all his energies to his calling. The over- 
bearing demeanor of the lieutenant had softened 
down into an amiable, modest manner, and the 
harshness of the other into a mildness that seemed 
to have its source in his domestic felicity. And 
thus there were now hours of social enjoyment 
around the doctor’s tea-table, on the upper floor, 
where the whole family would assemble, the re- 
turned traveller being the center of attraction ; there 
were grand feasts of a Sunday, in the Krautner villa, 
and even old Mrs. Roettger had screwed herself up 
to the extravagance of a leg and loin of veal. 

[ 249 ] 


250 


Miss Mischief. 


Christmas had gone, with its brightness and good 
cheer. The distribution of handsome presents had 
collected the family around the dining-room table 
of the young couple, and the voice of the little boy, 
who, shouting for joy, had stretched out his hands 
after the glittering tree, had been an entrancing 
sound for all ears. 

A load had been lifted even from Julia’s breast. 
She breathed more freely now. The wound once 
inflicted by the beautiful blonde upon her brother’s 
heart appeared to be perfectly healed, and Theresa 
— yes, Theresa had less than ever eyes and ears 
for any other than her husband. Never could Julia 
discover that the two — Fred and Theresa — ever 
exchanged a glance other than was usual between 
ordinary acquaintances or relations. They stood 
upon the footing of mutual friendly esteem, and 
conversed indifferently, as though that fair head 
had never leaned upon his bosom, as though he had 
never kissed the rosy lips of the charming woman, 
and as though her eyes had never shed burning 
tears on his account. 

Julia rejoiced ; but she was astonished at this fact 
as at something incomprehensible. She wondered 
if his heart did not ache a little bit. 

Gradually the merry season of the carnival drew 
near. Theresa sat over the newest fashion maga- 
zines ; the lieutenant was drawing for her the cus- 
tume of a Swedish peasant-girl, that he pronounced 
charming and exactly suited to her own style of 
beauty. After dinner, these two had been left alone 
in the dinning-room. Papa Krautner and the officer 


Ghosts of the Past . 


251 


had dined with the young couple, Fritz had been 
called off, but the old gentleman had retired to take 
his afternoon nap. Before them both stood half- 
emptied cups of Mocha coffee; above them floated 
light-blue circles of smoke from the cigarette which 
the officer was smoking. The air was warm, redo- 
lent of tobacco, oranges and coffee. The fire was 
glowing on the hearth and cast its radiance upon 
the mirroring parquetry, as far as the Smyrna car- 
pet, under the massive table. The pale light of the 
January day only dimly lit the comfortable apart- 
ment. 

The journal rustled in the lady's hand, and the 
lead-pencil which the lieutenant was using moved 
briskly over the paper. They both remained silent; 
for the first time they were alone. 

Now Theresa folded her arms and fixed her eyes 
upon the draughtsman. 

“ There,” said he, as unconcernedly as possible, 
although, with all his self-control, he could not hin- 
der the quavering of his voice — “there; now let 
your fancy add the coloring, the variegated embroid- 
ery, the marvelous blue of the bodice, and you have 
about an idea of what it is like. 1 saw this costume 
on board a Swedish ship. The captain had his 
young wife with him, a beautiful blonde like— you, 
Theresa.” 

She started and blushed. Then again deep silence 
ensued. She finally got up and silently went across 
to the fire-place and began raking among the coals. 
He had followed her with his eyes, and she must 


252 \ 


Miss Mischief. 


have been conscious of his gaze, for she turned 
around. 

“ Suppose we skate a little ?” asked she, impetu- 
ously. 

“If you like.” 

Theresa now stepped into the window-recess, to 
look at the sky and the thermometer. He left his 
seat and followed her. Thus they stood close 
together in that secluded room, almost entirely con- 
cealed behind the folds of the richly embroidered 
curtains. A greenish light poured through the 
small, lead-encased panes of glass ; only a single one 
emitted clearer rays. 

“ How often have I stood here,” said he softly, 
“ my Cornelius Napos in hand, learning my lesson, 
and looking over the book into the yard, like a scape- 
grace, begrudging every minute that kept me up- 
stairs. And then, later, I once stood here — ” and 
his hand pointed at the new pane. 

“ Be done with memories of the past !” were 
words that came almost pleadingly from her lips. 

“ Shall we separate,, then ?” 

“ Yes !” replied she; but still she lingered. And 
suddenly she turned her beautiful countenance full 
upon him ; it was suffused with crimson. “ Tell me 
only one thing,” was breathed rather than whisper- 
ed to him, “ that you have forgiven me !” 

“ No — never !” 

She looked at him timidly, then lowered her eyes, 
trembling and reaching out her hand, so as to sup- 
port herself upon the window-seat. 

“ How could I forgive her who has robbed me of 


Ghosts of the Past. 


253 


my life’s happiness?” continued he, bitterly. “ Did 
I forget this injustice ? 1 must first be able to forget 

myself !” So saying, he bowed and retired. 

Theresa stood rooted to the spot where he had left 
her. 

The maid came in after a long while. 

“ Mrs. Roettger !” 

She stirred slowly. 

“ What do you want?” 

“The lieutenant says he is waiting for you, 
ma’am, to go skating.” 

She put- her hand to her forehead. 

“ Tell him I am sorry that I cannot go ; it is too 
late now ; and besides, my head aches. But no, do 
not give that last reason !” 

She went into the nursery, but the little one was 
down in his grandmother’s room She therefore 
went down-stairs and quietly seated herself in the 
arm-chair by the stove, watching the carryings-on 
of the old lady with the child. 

“ What do you say to the lieutenant, Theresa?” 
asked the former, altera while. “ He has been sum- 
moned to Berlin, and is to describe the battle to the 
emperor. Look at baby ! He can laugh !” 

“ How do you know that?” asked Theresa, with 
unwanted animation. 

“ Fritz told me. The letter came a while ago, just 
about the time that you sent word down that you 
could not go upon the ice with him. Fred will have 
to set off this very evening.” 

Theresa was silent, and yet she blushed. 

“ The gentlemen of the club that meets at ‘ Die 


,254 


Miss Mischief 


Traube' also sent to request him to deliver a lecture, 
giving his own experiences, and telling them of the 
condition of that colony in East Africa that is under 
the protection of our government. I believe he has 
promised it for next week,” continued her mother- 
in-law. “ Dq you know, those Andersheim men 
will soon beLrandishing blunderbuses over people’s 
heads; so fashionable has everything become that is 
African.” 

Miss Mischief, who was just setting out for the 
Krautner villa to help Fred with his packing, a few 
minutes later met Theresa in the front hall. 

“ Where are you going ?” asked that lady. 

“ Over to Fred.” 

“ Wait, I’ll go along ; that is to say, 1 want to see 
about papa.” 

When they reached the villa, Theresa immediately 
sought her father in his room, and Julia looked for 
Fred in his quarters. 

A cloud of blue tobacco-smoke filled the plain 
room of the master of the house. The old man sat 
in his arm-chair smoking a long pipe ; opposite him 
was his son-in-law vvith a cigar in his mouth. The 
officer had seated himself on the edge of the table 
and held a cigarette between his slender fingers. 

Father and husband cordially welcomed the young 
woman. Fred silently straightened himself out of 
his negligent posture. 

“ Did Julia come over with you ?” he asked. 

“ Yes,” answered Theresa. “She wants to pack 
your trunk.” 

“ Good of her !” 


w 


Ghosts of the Past. 


255 


She took her stand behind her father’s chair. 
She did not mean to sit down, she said ; she had 
only come to see how he was ; he had looked so 
pale at dinner-time. 

“ Have you come on that account ?” called out the 
old gentleman with a laugh. “ Why, I am as lively 
as a fish in water.” He stood up and v^ent to look 
at himself before the only looking-glass in the room, 
that hung over the bureau. “ It is just as well, 
though, to look into the matter. One sometimes is 
brought low one knows not how,” he murmured. 

“ But, all jesting aside, papa,” exclaimed the 
doctor, “ you look the very picture of health !” 

“ Yes, that is very true, Fritz,” replied he, 
straightening himself back rather uncomfortably in 
his seat. “ For all that, day before yesterday, I met 
Mrs. Norban, who was sitting in her carriage like 
health itself, and to-day — she lies dead !” 

“ Mrs. Norban !” cried Theresa. “Why, you said 
nothing about it to me, Fritz.” 

“ I heard now for the first time, myself.” 

“How? You" are the Norbans’ family phy- 
sician ?” . 

He blew the ashes from his cigar. 

“ No longer so, it would seem,” he tranquilly 
replied. 

The young wife turned crimson all of a sudden. 

' “You are getting to be out of fashion,” said she, 
sharply. “Since New Year the Brinkmanns and 
Voights, too, have ceased to call you in.” 

He laughed. 


256 


Miss Mischief. 


“ Since when have you concerned yourself so 
much about my practice, little woman ?” 

“ I have always been more concerned about it 
than you think. At all events, 1 am not so indiffer- 
ent as you seem to be about whether or not you are 
more sought after than any other physician in the 
town,” answered she, warmly. 

“ How, now ?” growled the old man, not know- 
ing whether she spoke in jest or in earnest. 

The doctor still continued to laugh, while the 
lieutenant slowly lighted a fresh cigarette. 

u In your place, I would try to get out of this 
nest,” she continued. “ It should certainly be easy 
for you to get a professorship at Heidelberg or else- 
where. But you are perfectly satisfied with the old 
jog-trot way of doing things here, and let yourself 
be horribly imposed on by these people.” 

“Fred,” said the doctor, somewhat sharply, “ be 
so kind as to ask his majesty if he does not per- 
chance need a physician-in-ordinary. My wife 
would help me admirably to sustain such a position 
at court.” 

The old gentleman coughed and laugl\ed aloud. 
Fred stood up. Without responding to the doctor’s 
appeal, he bowed politely and took his leave, under 
the pretext of wanting to help his sister. 

“ But do tell me how it happens that you are so 
suddenly possessed by the demon of pride, my 
dear?” said the doctor, who had quickly recovered 
his good-humor. And he caught hold of her hand 
and drew her resisting form to his side. “ Do you 
really think that the disaffection of Mrs. Norban 


Ghosts of the Past. 


257 


and two others furnish sufficient ground for ray giv- 
ing up the respectable position that 1 hold here?” 

She tossed her head and drew her hand across 
her brow. It seemed as though she were slowly 
coming back to her senses. 

“ I am only sorry that you should subject yourself 
to unnecessary humiliation,” said she, softly, “ and I 
am vexed at the ingratitude of people.” 

“Foolish little heart! Leave that to me. I have 
fully as much reason to rejoice in the gratitude 
shown me. But we must go home. This is baby’s 
hour. See, twilight is coming on. Good-night, 
grandpapa.” 

They went honie through the garden, and together 
entered the nursery. Doris had lighted the lamp 
and spread a large, soft rug over the floor. The 
child that sat upon it, in a short, white- flannel gown, 
held out his little arms to his father with shouts of 
joy. Softly the old woman left the room, and the 
hour began that, up to this time, had been the hap- 
piest of the twenty-four for parents and child. Now, 
strange to say, the flow of their merriment was not 
as lively as usual. 

“ You are not in the game !” said the doctor, play- 
fully throwing the ball to his young wife, who sat 
on one end of the carpet. The baby rapidly crawled 
after it on all fours. 

“ Well, to tell the truth, I feel tired this evening 
—so tired !” said she, rolling the ball toward the 
advancing baby, who looked up in surprise; then 
she got up and seated herself in a chair. 

“ Does your head ache, darling?” 


2 5 8 


Miss Mischief 


“ Slightly.” 

“Hush, hush, you little, noisy thing! Mamma 
has the headache,” whispered he now to the baby- 
boy, and was much amused at the open mouth and 
inquisitive blue eyes with which he listened to the 
whisper, only to break out a moment after into a 
loud shout of joy. 

“ Go to your chamber, Theresa ; it is quiet there ; 
and I’ll follow you directly?” 

She arose and went out. She could not under- 
stand her own feelings, and did not want to analyze 
them. She could have done something, something 
wild, irrational — anything for diversion of mind, 
only to be rid of the thoughts that had been tortur- 
ing her brain, until they made her very blood tingle. 
For weeks past, wherever she went or whatever she 
did, only one thing stood before her eyes — a hand- 
some, sun-burned face, framed in light-brown hair, 
with dark, luminous eyes, that, somehow, never 
seemed to see her and yet exercised a power over 
her that was as penetrating as it was intolerable. 
There was always the same cool, superior air of one 
who could face the greatest peril, without the quiver 
of an eye-lash, but at the same time wound mortally, 
with a smile. 

And that man had once belonged to her, to her 
only ! 

She rested her clinched fists upon the window 
seat. How absurd she was ! What was he to her? 
She could have had him if she had pleased ; but she 
had not wanted him, and was now the idolized wife 
of another — of another — 


Ghosts of the Past . 


259 


“ Why, little one, you are still without light ?” imet 
her ears, just at this moment, in the voice of her 
husband. 

“Yes, still without light,” repeated she listlessly. 

He dropped down upon the sofa and yawned per- 
ceptibly. 

“ Dearest,” said he, “ do not be vexed, but this 
day’s work has almost done me up.” 

She did not ask: “ What work?” And hence 
failed to learn that he had had to perform a severe 
amputation. 

“ Come to me, Theresa !” 

She slowly stood up and drew near to him, but 
did not nestle up to him, as she had been wont to 
do. He drew her closer. 

“ There, I have all that I want in this world !” 

She made no reply, but imperceptibly shrugged 
her shoulders ; so imperceptibly that he did not feel 
it, although he held her in his arms. Thus they sat 
silently, until finally, after a long while, she said 
aloud : 

“ It would be fine though !” 

“ What would ?” 

“ If you could do something to — ” 

“Distinguish yourself,” said he, finishing her sen- 
tence for her. “ What a foolish little thing you are ! 
Do Fred’s laurels give you no rest?” 

Again she shrugged her shoulders, and after a 
while there came slowly and dispiritedly from her 
lips : 

“ What is Fred to me ?” 



CHAPTER XXII. 

HOW FRED WINS APPLAUSE FROM A FASHIONABLE 
AUDIENCE. 

Fred had really come in fashion. The newspapers 
had brought out long articles on him, telling in 
detail of his having been summoned to Berlin and 
the particulars of the audience. And then the 
burgomaster of the town had announced that 
Lieutenant Adami would deliver a lecture for the 
benefit of the fund for the restoration of Elizabeth 
Church, the subject of which would be his experi- 
ences in that part of East Africa that was under the 
protection of the German Empire. 

The man who created all this sensation did 
not seem to have his head turned in the least, but 
was as cordial and unpretending as ever. Just as 
serenely he continued to smoke his cigarettes in an 
unbroken series ; skated with Theresa, and also 
danced with her at the many entertainments that 
were given in his honor ; and yet he danced no 
more with her than with others. 

Meanwhile Theresa became paler and more irrit- 
able than ever, and the doctor became seriously 
[260] 


How Fred \ coins applause . 


261 


uneasy about her. Anxiously he consulted with his 
mother over this strange alteration. 

“ Why, you are the right doctor for your own 
family,” she declared, with perfect composure. “ I 
should like to see myself giving;^ medical advice 
and usurping your place as a practitioner. As if a 
young woman’s whims ever amount to anything ! I 
married, myself, when I was very young, and once 
I threw the bootjack at your blessed father’s head.” 

He could but laugh at this, and was quieted for 
a few days, only to become afterward the more 
solicitous. 

But, suddenly, everything that had cast a damper 
upon Theresa’s spirit vanished, and this change 
occurred on the day when Fred Adami was to give 
his lecture at the casino. Toward evening, Theresa 
came, somewhat pettishly, into Aunt Rika’s room, 
to go with Julia to the lecture; for she was pro- 
voked that the elder Mrs. Roettger had to keep 
her bed on account of nervous headache, and Aunt 
Rika, encased in shawls and pillows, had already 
setoff for “ Die Traube /” there some men were to 
carry her and her chair into the hall. She had not 
gone outside of her house for years, but this even- 
ing nothing could have induced her to forego the 
pleasure of being present at her darling’s lecture. 

There was no help for it: Julia had to go with 
her. Gladly would she have stayed at home, but 
Aunt Rika had almost cried when she made objec- 
tions, and so Julia squeezed herself into her best 
dress, that had become altogether too scant a pattern 
for her. She felt awkward and miserable in it, and 


262 


Miss Mischief. 


Theresa said, as soon as she saw her predicament, 
that she would lend her a kerchief, for the waist 
did, indeed, fit too badly. Not for the world would 
Theresa have entered the hall with so ill-dressed a 
figure ; hence she herself actually helped to arrange 
an embroidered white-silk handkerchief around 
Julia’s waist in such tasteful folds as skillfully to 
conceal the defects of the body beneath. It was 
fastened with a small Roman mosaic pin, in the 
form of a dagger, the only memento of her mother 
that Julia possessed, and, therefore, brought out 
with hesitation. 

Thus they arrived at the brilliantly lighted assem- 
bly-room, which was already well filled. 

The public functionaries of Andersheim were out 
in full force. A seat had been reserved for Theresa 
in the very front rank; but Julia seated herself at 
the side of the stage, by the side of Aunt Rika’s 
chair. Thence she could overlook the whole of the 
large audience, but did not venture to lift her eyes ; 
she felt anxious, very anxious, as if upon her would 
fall the responsibility of all that her brother did and 
said ; and her faith was weak ; she doubted his abil- 
ity to speak well. 

Upon coming in she had accidentally caught sight 
of Fritz, seated near the wall, in company with sev- 
eral other gentlemen, or, rather, her attention had 
been called to him, by an exclamation from Theresa, 
spoken in a tone of annoyance : 

“ Do, pray, look what a sight my husband is ! 
Why he has not even changed his coat !” Then 
Julia had looked no more in the direction where 


How Fred wins applause . 


263 


he sat. Finally, however, she did venture to do so 
and observed that his eyes were fixed upon herself, 
with an expression of surprise. His look embarrass- 
ed her, for she fancied that she read in it disapproval 
of her being- decked in such unique style, and blush- 
ing, she again bowed her head. 

Some verse (he could not remember where he 
had read it) involuntarily occurred to the doctor at 
that moment. 

“ Adown the steps of Rome’s great capitol she came, 

The setting sun aglow with crimson flame, 

Ne’er saw mine eye, since beauty it could trace. 

So proudly poised a head, such royal grace, 

And yet, with-downcast eye, she moved along, 

Oblivious of th’ admiring, gazL.g throng.” 

And he turned to old “ uncle doctor,” the girl’s 
guardian, and remarked to him in genuine amaze- 
ment : 

“ Behold what a brilliant butterfly has emerged 
from that little brown chrysalis of a girl, and how 
well that gold-embroidered kerchief becomes her !” 

And then his glance was directed to his fair 
young wife, and a shade of emotion was perceptible 
upon his face. The prettiest, sweetest, best thing 
in that whole assembly belonged to him. He loved 
her, loved her, now when she was pale, irritable, 
nervous, perhaps more tenderly than ever. He 
strove to obtain a look, a greeting from her— but in 
vain ; she did not once glance in the direction 
where he sat. 

And now appeared the orator of the evening. 


264 


Miss Mischief. 


His bow to the audience was faultless, his outward 
appearance no less so. His dress-suit fitted him to 
perfection, and the slight pallor of his countenance 
made him interesting. 

“ If one is to tell anything,” he began, “ he had 
better do it fully. Now, from the hour that 1 again 
set foot on German soil, no question has been asked 
me more frequently than this : ‘ How came you to 
think of going to Africa ?’ And I suspect that here, 
in this hall, many a one would like to know the 
precise motive that led me to that dark quarter of 
the globe. I shall be candid. I have always been 
interested in Africa, and have followed with enthu- 
siasm the accounts of our exploits there. Nothing 
equals the admiration that I have felt for our bold 
pioneers, who did not and do not shun dangers, toils 
and privations, for the sake of ascertaining the truth 
about that land. Of course, a special impulse was 
needed to induce me to take part myself in that 
mighty undertaking. To know of what particular 
nature this impulse was cannot be of general interest. 
Let us assume that I wanted ‘ to cure an old grief 
amid new scenes." Enough said ! That I was not 
lacking, moreover, in a firm and honest purpose to 
be of use, to learn and to teach — yes, risk my health 
and life for a new bit of German soil — I believe that 
I have sufficiently proven. 

“ Permit me, then, honored ladies and gentleman, 
to commence my narrative at the moment when, 
standing on the steps to the bridge of a great man- 
of-war, I saw, fading away into the mist of a winter’s 
night, the towers and roofs of the good town of 


How Fred wins applause. 


265 


Keil, and heard the rushing of German waters 
beneath the prow that was being steered for a 
southern ocean. Real grief at parting with my 
native land had taken possession of me. What I had 
lost and was to shun pictured itself before my eyes 
as more enchanting and indispensable than ever 
before, so that I considered myself as the most 
miserable man on the face of the globe. And I 
have not found to be exactly true what the philoso- 
phers assert, namely, that removal from a spot 
where we have suffered softens pain. Personally, 
longing after home has cost me many a struggle.” 

Involuntarily Julia had looked across at Theresa. 
That young woman’s face was ashy pale ; consum- 
ingly her eyes lingered upon the slender man at the 
desk, and now he slowly turned his face toward her, 
and for a second, four eyes met in a gaze that 
seemed scorching to the very depths. Seeing this 
made Julia’s heart beat wildly, and sent the blood 
tingling into her cheeks until dizziness seized her. 
She no longer heard what her brother was saying. 
She had clasped her hands so firmly together that 
it pained her. She had only one clear thought: 
Had Fritz noticed that look? And what was to be 
done, now that they had thus exchanged a glance 
of intelligence ! And— and — oh, horrors ! — hitherto 
her only anxiety had been lest Fred should again be 
carried away by his old love; lest he should be 
made unhappy when he saw her. Of Theresa she 
had not thought; for she was the wife — the beloved 
wife — of another, happy and enviable. And now — 
No, it was not possible ! She forced herself to be 


266 


Miss Mischief. 


tranquil, and looked over at the young wife. There 
she sat now, with the roses again blooming upon 
her cheeks, slowly waving her fan, apparently listen- 
ing earnestly, but without emotion. No longer a 
trace of that lightning-like exchange of secret intel- 
ligence which had passed between those two awhile 
ago. She breathed more freely. No one but her- 
self had observed the dreadful thing. Had it really 
been so, or was it not a dream ? 

And yet her fascinated gaze could not quit those 
two. But she did not discover another such look. 
Several times, when lively descriptions were given, 
a smile of approval ran along the lines of hearers, 
but not once did the muscles of Theresa’s mouth 
relax, and Julia thought that she did not hear what 
he was saying. She was thinking — oh, she was 
thinking — of what? And that stifling sense of 
oppression once more overcame her. 

Now, he had ended ; a low murmur of approval 
went through the hall. Julia saw how her brother 
descended the two steps of the platform and, 
with unmoved countenance, carried Theresa’s out- 
stretched hand to his lips, then advanced to the 
old lady and kissed her hand likewise. 

“ Beautiful, very beautiful !” whispered Miss Rika, 
feebly. “ But — Fred — no, not here — later !” 

“ What do you want, aunt ?” 

“ Ah, my boy, I had no idea that trouble had 
driven you away,” said she, with tears in her eyes. 

He smiled. 

“ One must adorn one’s discourse a little. Do not 
be uneasy, aunt.” 


How Fred wins applause. 


267 


He then pushed her wheeled-chair himself down 
the narrow aisle between the seats, and Julia walked 
behind them, silently, with glowing cheeks and 
downcast eyes. 

Near the door, where the throng was thickest, 
they met Mr. Krautner. He suddenly turned the 
direction of the rolling-chair to a side-door, and 
beckoned to the others to come after. A few 
seconds later, the family found themselves alone in 
a small ante-chamber, in the midst of which, under 
a burning chandelier, stood a covered table, fur- 
nished with every appurtenance for good cheer. 

Old Mr. Krautner seemed quite intoxicated by the 
success of his guest, and was determined to feast 
well the fine, manly fellow, who had acquitted him- 
self so splendidly as a speaker. 

“ There, now,” said he, “ take seats, ladies and 
gentlemen, and let us all drink the health of the 
African. The oysters will soon come.” 

Aunt Rika, however, forthwith declared, in the 
most positive manner, that she must go home ; and 
the doctor said that he must hurry off, to call upon 
a very ill patient, and would therefore see Aunt 
Rika home at once. 

The giver of the feast now desired them to wait 
until the dishes were brought in, and profited by 
the pause to fortify himself in the public-room with 
a glass of the “ genuine article.” 

Julia suddenly found herself alone with Fred and 
Theresa. It was not very warm in the room, that 
was fitted up in a shabby, tavern-like style. Never- 
theless it struck her as horribly sultry. Theresa sat 


268 


Miss Mischief. 


upon a sofa draped with red plush, while Fred stood 
before the covered table and read the bill of fare. 

Absent-mindedly Julia looked around the room, 
contemplating the chromos of the emperor and the 
empress, and the hideous paper on the walls. Prop- 
erly, she, too, ought to have gone home to soothe 
the excited old lady and to look after Aunt Minna, 
whose headache, after such days of suffering, was 
wont to vent itself toward evening in fits of caprice 
and scolding, and yet she was held to her place as 
by an iron vise. She would not have that pair left 
by themselves ! If they were, to-night, guarded 
against themselves, then, to-morrow, perhaps, in 
sober daylight, the mad fancy would have vanished. 
And, finally, the doctor came again, when all was 
once more well. 

She got up. 

“ Please do not think ill of me if I go,” said she. 
“ I do not think it right to leave aunt alone so 
long.’’ Already she was at the door. 

“ Wait, Julia !” exclaimed the doctor, starting to 
follow her. 

But she hurried away, calling back : 

“ Stay, Fritz, I implore you !” 

She ran on down-stairs, hastily taking her cloak 
from the peg where it hung by Theresa’s things, and 
hurried out into the dark street. Suddenly she felt 
a touch. 

“ At least allow me to see you home,” said the 
doctor ; “ the way is far, and a part of the road is 
lonely.” 

“ Please, please, Fritz, go back! Your father-in- 


Hozv Fred wins applause . 


law is waiting 1 to sit down to supper,” she implored, 
impatiently. 

“ Papa Krautner? Why, he is still sitting behind 
a freshly filled glass, disputing so eagerly with 
uncle doctor that he will not even remember that he 
has guests to entertain, until I pull him by the sleeve. 
Those few minutes will not make the slightest differ- 
ence.” 

“ But I will not have you go with me !” cried she, 
beside herself. “Do you hear! \ will not \” She 
stamped audibly upon the ground. “ I can take 
perfectly good care of myself !” 

And by the light of the street lantern, he saw a 
pale, excited countenance, but from the eyes looked 
forth a determined will. 

She turned her back upon him and moved away 
at a quick pace. 

He shrugged his shoulders and turned back. 

“Very strange!” said he. “ She does not accept 
the slightest attention. My mother would call it 
‘ beggarly pride ’ — but there is something else at the 
bottom of it. I know that she does not like to walk 
on the street, alone, of an evening.” 

He entered the common-room of the inn, and 
brought off his father-in-law, who, with flushed face, 
was broaching his colonial-political views. 

“ Come, papa, Fred and Theresa are anxiously 
waiting for us, upstairs, to begin upon the nice 
supper you have had prepared for us.” 

When they went in, Theresa was standing by the 
iron stove. She had put her foot upon the projec- 
tion of the stove-door and let the light of the flames 


2 JO 


Miss Mischief. 


play upon it. Fred was just coming back from the 
window. 

“At last!” complained Theresa. “We have 
waited an eternity.” 

Fritz drew her to the table. 

“You are in a regular glow,” said he. “How 
could you stand so close to that hot stove? You 
will spoil your beautiful complexion, you heedless 
thing !” 

She shuddered. 

“ 1 was so cold !” murmured she, regarding in- 
tently the number on her napkin. 




CHAPTER XXIII. 


A SEED OF BITTERNESS TAKES ROOT. 

il Fritz/’ asked Miss Trautmann, the next day, 
“did you know anything of Fred having had an 
unfortunate love-affair ?” 

The old lady had no rest since the evening before; 
she could not get over that remark of his : “ I wanted 
to cure an old grief by change of scene.” 

The doctor smiled. 

“ Do not you know, aunt, that puffing is a part 
of the trade? Fred knew well enough how best to 
ingratiate himself with the ladies. So far as my 
observation goes, he does not look like a love-sick 
swain ; and, to speak candidly, when one really goes 
away for such a cause, he is not the one to proclaim 
it. It may be, however, that he has an old flame 
here, upon whom he would like to make the impres- 
sion that it was her cruelty which drove him across 
the seas. Be comforted, aunt, your Fred is a gay 
bird !” 

“Julia says so, too ; but he is commonly so much 
in earnest,” sighed Miss Rika, “ and he will not give 
me his confidence.” 

***** 


[271] 


2J2 


Miss MischieJ. 


The carnival had come. Motley as ever was the 
merriment on -the Rhine, for it filled the air with 
the jingle of bells, the cracking of whips and music, 
dazzling the eyes, moreover, with gaudy colors. 

Theresa suddenly appeared like a creature trans- 
formed. If before she had been two quiet and 
irritable, a very spirit of frolic seemed now to iave 
taken possession of her. 

“ The blood of a true Rhenish girl coming to the 
surface,” suggested the doctor, laughingly, as she 
danced around the parlor in a short skirt made of 
pale-blue satin with white roses embroidered over 
it, her hair frizzed and powdered, and fancy shoes to 
correspond, upon her feet. She ran coquettishly bv 
him, as though inviting him to catch her. 

“ The carriage is waiting at the door,” warned he, 
accepting her dare, “ and worse ^than that, mother ! 
Come, let me put your cloak on for you !” 

But she darted from one corner to the other, and 
at last jumped upon the sofa, all with a peculiar 
laugh, such as he had never heard from her before. 
And when, adopting her mood, he moved the table 
close up so as to imprison her, she even leaped 
upon the table, and he rapturously took her in his 
arms, as he was accustomed to do with his boy. 

Now she suddenly looked down upon him from 
above with cold eyes and altered countenance. 

“That old German cap is hideously unbecoming 
to you !” said she. 

“ You looked so much the more charming, 
Theresa !” 

“ Let me go, please !” demanded she. 


A Seed of Bitterness takes root. 273 


“ Yes, under one condition.” 

“ Oh, I know what that means !” 

And swift as lightning she had stooped down and 
bitten him upon the cheek, so that the red mark left 
by the imprint of her teeth was left. Just as quickly 
she stood upon the floor and gave him a look of 
mingled anger and disgust. 

He did not observe this. 

“ Well, that passes the bounds of sport,” remarked 
he, quietly, wiping with his handkerchief the place 
that had been hurt. 

“ You know that I cannot bear such nonsense,” 
returned she, all at once beginning to sob. “ Ah, 
everything in this world is horridly stupid ! Every- 
thing! Everything! And to-day is carnival !” 

He shook his head. 

“ Do you know your nerves are very much 
shaken ?” said he. “ And if you were my patient , 
you would have to stay at home.” 

A little while afterward, the house was perfectly 
still, the young couple and their mother having 
gone to the ball. The baby was asleep, as was also 
the old lady down-stairs. Only from Julia’s window 
still glimmered a light. There she sat, brooding 
over the happiness of others, and upbraiding herself 
for the fancies that haunted her. Her maiden 
purity of mind revolted strongly against that which 
was ever anew arousing her suspicions. If she had 
only not surprised that look ! If she could only 
forget that Theresa had already broken her troth 
once ! But that was no troth plighted at the altar, 
said the girl to herself ; none that was sealed by the 


274 


Miss Mischief 


most sacred thing upon earth. And she thought of 
the lovety child upstairs in his cradle, and grew 
more composed. Fred was not going to stay much 
longer, anyhow ; and when he was gone, Theresa’s 
superficial feelings would soon revert to their 
proper channel. 

“ If he were only gone on his way ! Theresa is 
not bad ; certainly not. She only allows herself to 
be thus carried away by what she believes herself 
bound to admire. No, bad she is not !” 

Next day, toward evening, the doctor came from 
the house of his father-in-law, at which place it was 
his habit to pay a daily visit. Upon the front door- 
steps of the villa he lingered, bethought himself and 
resolved to go through the garden instead of along 
the Rhine. He still felt tired after the ball. In the 
first place, they had not come home until daylight, 
and he had hardly fallen to sleep, when he was rung 
up again to bind up the wound of a victim of the 
carnival who had been struck by the beer-mug of a 
rival. The unrefreshing scene that he had wit- 
nessed at a low inn had cast a gloom over spirits 
that were rather fagged in the beginning. 

Theresa had reigned undisputed queen of the ball, 
and had received the attentions of young men with 
the air of a young girl who can still dispose of her 
heart and hand. And he had stood for fifteen 
minutes at a time in some corner, worrying himself 
over the thought that a rationaUwoman could take 
pleasure in such follies, and had planned to repre- 
sent to her, in all calmness, that this attendance 
upon assemblies must now cease ; for she was 


A Seed of Bitterness takes root. 275 


entirely too nervous for it and dancing highly injuri- 
ous to her. She had, indeed, turned paler after 
every dance, and her eyes grew ever more feverish. 

He had not been able to have that plain talk with 
her in the morning, because she had slept until he 
had to leave home, and, at dinner, to his surprise, 
he had found his mother upstairs. Theresa had 
invited her to eat ragout fin — the old lady’s favorite 
dish. And even before the dessert was brought in 
his wife excused herself in order to lie down and 
rest again. Now, at last, he could have a talk with 
her. 

Gray twilight encompassed him. It was too dark 
to distinguish objects clearly but light enough to 
see tolerably well. Here and there glistened a strip 
of snow left lying on the edge of the grass sod and 
on one side gleamed the bare, white trunks of the 
fruit-trees, looking ghostlike through the gloom. 
He went along, smoking his cigar, not the nearest 
way, but going around the great grass circle and 
passing by the garden summer-house that was close 
to the wall next the Rhine. When the old gentle- 
man had bought the garden, he had repaired and 
fitted up the old-fashioned thing, inasmuch as from 
its window a lovely open view of the river could be 
obtained. He delighted in sitting here himself in the 
early spring when it was not yet possible to sit in 
the open air, or in the late autumn when cold winds 
blew up from the Rhine. In winter-time it was kept 
locked. 

He walked slowly past, and almost stumbled over 
the broad sandstone steps, that could hardly be dis- 


276 


Miss Mischief. 


tinguished from the garden- walk. Then he forsook 
the garden and stood for a while before the gate of 
his own property close by the darkening stream. 
Then, to one side, he heard a sharp, grating sound, 
and perceived a shadow that slid down the wall 
below the garden-lodge. It must almost certainly 
have come out of the window of that small house. 
With long strides, he began to follow the fugitive, 
but the next minute it had been swallowed up by 
mist and fog. 

Then the doctor deemed it more advisable to 
turn around and see whether the summer-house had 
been broken into, in order to report to its master, if 
needful. Perhaps a boatman might have sought 
these comfortable quarters for the night. 

The garden was now shrouded in ghostly gloom, 
only he thought he saw something light flit through 
the gate that connected with his own grounds. Or 
was it imagination ? He must have been mistaken, 
for, when he looked again, he positively believed 
that he had mistaken the shining body of the birch- 
tree by the gate for some moving object. He was 
surprised, though, to find ajar the door that was 
always locked at this season of the year. 

In the entry he lighted his small pocket-lantern 
and stepped into the tiny room. Nobody there. 
He opened the wardrobe ; the old gentleman’s 
garden-suit hung there, and over it his straw hat. 
On the other side stood cups, paper-matches and 
an old brass coal-scuttle in undisturbed serenity. 
He cast the light upon the windows ; they were 
closed ; only, one shutter was not bolted and gaped 


A Seed of Bitterness takes root. 


2 77 


somewhat. He made it secure, and then again 
took a survey of the premises. The rug in front of 
the sofa had been pushed awry, else — • 

Suddenly he started, and stared as though spell- 
bound upon an object at his feet, then stooped over 
and picked up a soft, white thing. The fabric was 
of silk, embroidered with gold. 

“Julia’s kerchief!” said he, not knowing himself 
why he should feel such strong indignation as now 
took possession of him. “ Julia’s kerchief !” repeated 
he, with a short, scornful laugh. 

He extinguished the light in the lantern and 
seated himself on the crazy little settee, as though 
he needed to gather strength before he could take 
in such an astounding idea. A man to jump out of 
the window, and Julia with him, in this secluded 
spot, alone! The proud girl that up to this time 
had appeared to be so pure and transparent, was she 
like — But no comparison occurred to him. 

“ But that comes of never having known what 
love is, from childhood up,” murmured he, bitterly. 
“ And yet, for all that, it is incomprehensible. But 
I must warn her, help, advise her.” 

He jumped up and hurried out into the open air, 
with thekerchief in his hand. It had become perfectly 
dark. One of the servant-girls met him near the 
gate connecting the two places. 

“ Can you tell me if my wife is at her father’s ?” 

“ Mrs. Roettger was not here to-day,” answered 
the girl ; “ nobody, indeed, has been at our house, 
except you, doctor. The lieutenant has not been 
there for some hours. I believe he was going to walk 


278 


Miss Mischief. 


to” — she named a neighboring village — “I only 
heard him telling Mr. Krautner.” 

“ Oh, yes, I know,” he answered, abstractedly 
moving forward 

In his own house he saw a light in the nursery and 
in his wife’s boudoir. It was dark, though, in Aunt 
Rika’s rooms. He opened the door to her room and 
called in : 

“ Is Julia there ?” 

“ Yes,” answered the girl’s rich, deep voice. 

“ Have you been at home all the evening ?” 

A brief silence ; then a “ No !” 

“ I beg pardon ! Where were you, Julia?” 

“ l — ” again a pause — “ how can that interest 
you ?” 

He made no reply to this. 

“ In a quarter of an hour, will you come to my 
room for a few minutes — to the study, I mean ?” 

“ With pleasure !” sounded back. 

Fritz repaired to his own chamber, laid the kerchief 
carefully upon the desk, and went to look up his wife. 

Theresa lay upon her sofa, in the boudoir, the 
lamp being obscured by a dark shade. She looked 
pale, and a chill shook her frame. 

“ Ah — ah !” said he, solicitously. “ Are you going 
to increase my practice ?” 

“ 1 am so tired,” she lamented. 

“ You should have gone out and had the refresh- 
ment of a walk. Haven’t you been out at all 
to-day ?” 

“ No !” she gasped. 

“Always here on the sofa? No wonder, then, 


A Seed of Bitterness takes root. 279 


that you are chilly. Have you been reading, I won- 
der? If you would only give that up assoon as you 
are taken with one of these attacks !” 

“ I would like to go to sleep.” 

“ That means I am to leave you, my dear? Well, 
but I must have a serious talk with you — it cannot 
go on so any longer ?” 

She started up. 

“ What is not to go on so any longer?” 

“ Oh — oh ! Not now, in the morning, I said ! 
Be rational, and sleep off your bad feelings. I shall 
see to the house being kept quiet !” He nodded 
gravely to her and left the room. 

“ Oh, these women!” he murmured, as he tapped 
at Aunt Rika’s door. 

“ Are you coming, Julia ?” 

“ Directly !” she answered. 

He went in advance, seated himself at his study- 
table, and screwed up higher the lighted lamp, then 
rested his cheek upon his hand. His heart beat like 
that of schoolboy’s. Immediately after she entered. 

He looked searchingly at her, as she now stood 
before him, without saying a word. She had a suf- 
fering look, and her countenance had lost its infantine 
expression. All at once, he fancied that he dis- 
cerned something in the beautiful features that 
denoted inward conflict, secret passion. 

“Julia,” he began, and speech was somehow diffi- 
cult for him, “ you know that you have always had 
in me a friend— a brother — or have I not been this 
to you, Julia ?” 

She looked at him, and the twitching of the 


28 o 


Miss Mischief. 


muscles about her mouth became more marked, and 
her demeanor was almost haughty. 

“ Oh, certainly !” she answered. 

“You can see for yourself that it must touch a 
brother in the most painful, trying manner to dis- 
cover in his sister — ” here he stopped, and walked 
up and down the room ; he did not know how he 
should tell her that he had discovered her secret. 
“ See that kerchief !” he finally said hoarsely, point- 
ing to the light fabric by the lamp. 

She looked at it and then at him calmly, with an 
expression of surprise, though, in her eyes. 

“ I just found it. You probably forgot it, being 
so engrossed with your interview — in the pain 
of parting, perhaps, too — ” And provoked by her 
composure, “ ah, Julia, child, how could you so far 
forget yourself ?” 

Her eyes had dilated strangely. 

“That kerchief — I — am to — ” 

“Be open with me, Julia,” he implored. “That 
you should fall in love some day, was a matter of 
course, but I have always fancied that — as is right 
and customary — it would be brought about by Aunt 
Rika or me being approached by an honorable 
man, who should freely and frankly sue for your 
hand never did I think that you would give your 
heart to a lover with whom you would have to hide 
yourself, who must needs make his escape through 
the window !” 

She started up. 

“You are crazy!” shrieked she. “Oh, it is — it 
is — ” Then she abruptly hushed, and her hand felt 


A Seed of Bitterness takes root. 281 


for the back of the sofa, while she drew the other 
before her eyes, as if she had become dizzy. “ Oh, 
me ! Oh, me !” rang through the apartment. 

“ Yes, it is better that you should not deny the 
truth and give me your confidence. All may yet be 
well. I implore you, Julia, to make a clean breast 
of it. Let me talk with that man. I am ready 
to make all allowances for you, though it be with a 
heavy heart. You have not had a mother, and Aunt 
Rika did not have the art of winning your love. 
You have been heart-hungry all these years, and 
probably have not had the courage to say to aunt : 
‘ I love and am beloved !’ I will honor your confi- 
dence — help you. But confess, child ; tell me who 
he is. It cannot go on thus. It is unworthy of you 
and of us.” He had drawn near to her and began 
to stroke her hair. “ Do speak, Mischief ! Speak !” 
said he, pleadingly. 

“ I cannot ! I cannot ! Leave me !” exclaimed 
she,, pushing away his hand, her bewildered eyes 
roving restlessly, as though she knew not whether 
she were awake or dreaming. 

“ You cannot ?” 

“No! No!” And she broke out into a short, 
nervous laugh. “ Give that kerchief to me ! I want 
to go !” 

“ No, you are not going either !” cried he, pas- 
sionately, provoked by that laugh. “You are not 
going to escape me ! As master of this house, I 
shall suffer nobody to point the finger at you, who 
have enjoyed all the rights of a child here. Speak 
out, I tell you ! I’m listening!” 


282 


Miss Mischief. 


She rushed forward and stood before him with 
uplifted hand, as though she would avenge the insult 
by a blow. 

“ Point the finger at me?” she gasped. 

He seized her hand and drew her down. Julia’s 
ashy, pale countenance had an expression awful to 
behold. 

“Reflect. You wore this kerchief a few days 
ago. I saw you in it at your brother’s lecture. Am 
I mistaken ? Yes or no ?” 

Her head suddenly fell. 

“ It is my kerchief,” said.she, almost inaudibly. 

“ And who was that with you?” 

“ I cannot tell.” 

“ You will not confess to me ?” 

“ No.” 

Then anger took sudden possession of him. 

“ I never expected to see the day when you would 
go into forbidden paths !” exclaimed he, carried 
out of himself. “ Go, then ! We are done with one 
another !” 

She walked out, the hand that held the kerchief 
hanging limp by her side, and her whole attitude 
being one of utter despair. When she reached the 
door, though, her head was thrown back and her 
figure became erect. 

With firm step she passed out of the house and 
through the garden. Breathless she reached the 
villa beyond and asked for her brother. He was in. 
She found him on the sofa, smoking a cigarette and 
reading. He was aghast before the threatening 
countenance of the pale girl. 


A Seed of Bitterness takes root . 283 


“What has happened now?” cried he, starting 
from his couch. 

“ You will please pack your trunk and be off,” 
said she, struggling for composure. 

“ Why so ?” 

“ Because you are no longer to deceive an honor- 
able man. I know all ! You were with Theresa in 
the summer-house, as of old — made your escape 
through the window !” 

He pretended to look astonished, but his pallor 
fully confirmed her statement. 

“What is that to you?’' growled he, angrily. 
“* Who saw me ?” - 

“ Fritz.” 

He gave a short laugh. 

“ Well, it only brings the matter more quickly to 
a crisis. As for the rest, does the doctor know that 
Theresa was there, too ?” 

“ He does not know it.” 

“ Well, why are you making all this ado, then ?” 

She gazed upon him with horror. 

“ Fritz believes that I was there with a — ” 

Her voice failed her. 

“ Ah, that is rich ! You have left him under that 
impression, 1 hope?” 

“ Yes,” said she, with quivering lips. “ Because 
he would not survive the knowledge that Theresa 
had behaved so shamefully.” 

Fred drew himself to his full height. 

“ Shamefully ? No, my dear child, you do not 
understand this affair, so ought not to pronounce 
judgment. It is a great deal for you to take the 


284 


Miss Mischief. 


blame upon yourself. I am grateful to you for it, 
and shall never forget this clever stroke of yours. 
But spare me any criticism of Theresa. She came 
to the summer-house at my request, so that we could 
at last talk unreservedly to one another, and consult 
over the shaping of our future course. She loves 
me and intends to separate from Fritz, and that’s 
the whole story.” 

“ She loves you ?” asked the girl, before whose 
eyes confused shadows floated. “ That is not true. 
She cannot have said that, and if she did, she has 
persuaded herself into it. You must leave, Fred, 
this very night, if you are a man of honor. Til 
send your things after you. Theresa will come to 
her senses! I know it! But get ready! Make 
haste !” 

And, in feverish haste, she brought his hat and 
overcoat. 

“ Do not get so excited !” said he, composedly. 
“ Let things take their natural course. There is a 
right way to do everything. I’ll go when the 
proper time comes, and our relations have been 
cleared up.” 

“ Do you call that a right way?” cried she, plant- 
ing herself in front of him, with flashing eyes. “ Is 
it right to destroy the happiness of the best, the 
noblest of men ?” 

“ It is retribution,” answered he, rolling up a new 
cigarette. “ He cheated me out of my bride. How 
he managed it, I know not, but, at all events, under 
the mask of the honest man, that becomes him admir- 
ably. As for the rest, retribution has come without 


A Seed of Bitterness takes root. 285 


my seeking. Theresa has confessed to me that the 
old love has revived in her as strongly as when we 
first met.” 

Julia turned to go, with a mute gesture of abhor- 
rence. 

“ Whither away now ?” cried he after her. “ I 
counsel you to be after none of your nonsense, 
else — ” 

She made 110 reply. Her plan had miscarried. 
Now there was only one other way — Theresa ! But 
as she stood before the door of the boudoir upstairs, 
she heard the voice of the doctor, who was solicit- 
ously inquiring after the health of the wife who was 
betraying him. Julia clinched her teeth and went 
down-stairs again. 

In her agony of mind, she wanted to go to Minna, 
but she had still sufficient presence of mind left to 
say to herself that if this woman were acquainted 
with the situation, she would immediately put the 
whole house into commotion, and destroy what little 
hope there was of rectifying the evil done, and his 
happiness would be forever destroyed. And, never- 
theless, something must be done! All at once she 
thought of old Mr. Krautner, and ran to the house- 
door. 

“Where — where are you going ?” sounded the 
voice of Minna behind her. “Walking abroad at 
night is not the style with us, young woman ! The 
girls of our family stay respectably within doors of 
an evening !” 

And going past her, Minna locked the door and 
ostentatiously stuck the key in her pocket. 


286 


Miss Mischief. 


Now, Julia knew that the old lady had listened to 
the interview with Fritz, that this very evening the 
girls in the kitchen would be whispering the welcome 
gossip to one another, with every embellishment 
possible. She could have shrieked for indignation 
and grief. At this instant, the doctor came down- 
stairs. He went straight to his study, and did not 
turn his head in her direction, as he said : 

“ I desire that my wife be left undisturbed for the 
rest of the evening.” 

She silently followed him with her eyes, and then 
went into her own chamber. It was impossible for 
her to tell Aunt Rika good night — impossible to lie 
down to rest. She felt as though the narrow walls 
might close her in ; the air seemed unbearably hot. 
With nervous impetuosity, she tore open the 
window. Then she began restlessly to pace to and 
fro in the room, wringing her hands. From time to 
time she drew them mechanically over her aching 
brow, that was beaded with cold sweat. It was 
long past midnight when her silent pacing of the 
floor at last ceased. 

She drew a chair up to her bureau and pulled out 
its top drawer. There, in perfect order, lay all the 
small treasures of her joyless youth. Absent- 
mindedly she took this or that paper-box into her 
hand and surveyed its contents. There were the 
dear, prohibited ear-rings ; there was her mother’s 
pin, the little dagger with the mosaic handle ; there 
a few books of poetry that Fritz had given her at 
confirmation ; finally, a blank-book, upon the brown- 


A Seed of Bitterness takes root . 287 


leather back of which was engraved, in gilt letters, 
“ Diary.” 

It had been a Christ mas-gift from Theresa, one of 
those presents that are thoughtlessly selected and 
only given because it was expected of one to give. 
She had laid it in her drawer that holiday, along 
with other more or less useless gifts, not without 
reflecting, with a bitter smile: What were those 
blank leaves to her ? Probably destined to remain as 
empty as her life. What was it that she cared to 
inscribe upon them ? And then she had suddenly 
dipped her pen in the ink and dashed off a few lines, 
in the bold, free hand peculiar to her: 

** You ask me how my days go by ? 

I '11 tell you, if you care to know : 

No step can make my heart beat high, 

Nor parting make my pulse more slow. 

“ And know you why I am so sad — 

Why so defiant I can be ? 

Once strong the thirst for love I had, 

And no one gave a drop to me. 

“ Love’s golden wine was sparkling clear, 

And many smiled and took a sip* 

All others drank love’s draught so dear ; 

But no one put it to my lip. 

“ Once only came a gleam of joy ; 

Love stooped and, with a winsome glance, 

Held out the chalice ; no alloy 

My soul discerned, nor looked askance. 

“ Deceitfully the colors shone 
The beaker’s brim around ; 

I longed to have it for mine own ; 

'T would make my sick heart sound. 


288 


Miss Mischief. 


“ But when I stooped my thirst to slake, 

Then broke the glass in twain ; 

My lips were parched, dry, as of yore ; 

My heart the seat of pain. 

“ And that is why I am so sad — 

Why so defiant is my tone. 

For me no love was to be had ; 

Henceforth, forever, I’m alone !” 

She smiled over the verses, but almost compas- 
sionately, wondering how she could ever have com- 
posed rhymes. Then came the thought how she 
would blush if the eye of any other should fall upon 
those lines, and her fingers itched to tear the page 
out of the book and destroy it. But again she let 
her hand drop. A thought struck her, which she 
sought in vain to banish. Why, then, should she be 
forever the one sacrificed — forever play the part of 
the peacemaker ? What concern was it of hers if 
Theresa chose to separate from her husband and 
give herself to another ? Would he not then be free ! 
And he would most assuredly recover from the blow. 
A man like him does not die when he loses some- 
thing that must henceforth be worthless to him. 
And even if he should never learn of his wife’s 
unfaithfulness, what could a wife be to him, who 
was kept in the line of duty only by main force ? 
This could never again be a happy union. No, 
never! He would not be the man of nice sensibil- 
ity that he was, if he could endure the thought of 
his wife being chained to his side merely by a sense 
of duty. 


A BEAUTY IN LIGHT BLUE TRIPPED UP TO HIM. — .S'ec’ Chapter IX 

























I 
















« 










• ' 













































































♦ 































































* 














. 








































■ 


















. . 






A Seed of Bitterness takes root. 289 


Was it the worst thing that could happen for him, 
to be unsparingly informed that he was being 
betrayed ? Had she altogether the right to with- 
hold the' truth from him ? Anxiety to save him 
from the loss of his beloved, pity, the sympathy that 
neither asks nor desires anything for itself — all these 
had rushed in upon her when she had declared the 
kerchief to be her property. But in doing this, had 
she not been a simpleton, the victim of an over- 
strained sentimentality ? 

Her heart revolted against the hopelessness of the 
future which stretched out before her more dreary 
and desolate than ever. Sweet, blissful dreams of 
coming joy would present themselves to her senses. 
He would be free, he might one day be hers, and 
Heaven was her witness that she would leave no 
stone unturned whereby the past might be obliter- 
ated and full atonement made to him and his child 
— that — 

“ Ah, that child !” 

Was that child to lose his mother? 

“ And what a mother!” exclaimed the rebellious 
heart. 

Nevertheless, she was his mother, and surely 
Theresa’s soul could not be so utterly perverted but 
that for the sake of her son she would bless the hour 
in which she had renounced her misguided fancy in 
order to cleave to her husband. 

And Julia raised her head and, with dry, burning 
eyes, looked the picture of determination, although, 
unfortunately, in the solitude of that little chamber, 
there were none to be impressed. 


2 go 


Miss Mischief. 


“ What is to become of you?” asked the bewitch- 
ing voice. 

She did not know. She had already endured so 
much, why not this added load, that she should be 
deemed a frivolous, disreputable character? But, 
no ! This was something she could not stand. His 
contempt? Never! It were best if she could die ! 
In this case it was no cowardice — certainly not ! 

Oh beautiful life ! Oh golden youth ! How many 
years lay yet before her, and it she should go forth 
and strike out for independence, somewhere in the 
world there must be a resting-place for her where 
she could breathe freely and see the sun and the 
fair, fair earth with some degree of complacency. 

There! what was that? Just above her chamber a 
door was violently slammed, and immediately after- 
ward Theresa’s voice was distinctly heard, but 
almost choked by sobs. Now, well-known steps 
passed through the hall, then the jarring of a door. 
Fritz had gone into his study, 

What could it signify ? Was Theresa going to — 
Julia’s limbs suddenly became heavy as lead. She 
stood motionless and leaned over to listen. The 
sobbing overhead continually increased in vehem- 
ence, and now she also distinguished the old nurse’s 
voice. 

Julia suddenly made up her mind, turned abruptly 
and went out. The deep stillness of night prevailed 
throughout the house. The lamp was burning in 
the hall, for it was never put out until morning. 
Fritz would have it so, in case he might be called to 
a patient in the night. Julia went upstairs. On the 


A Seed of Bitterness takes root . 


2C)I 


top step sat the black house-cat, and he blinked at 
her sleepily. The old hall-clock struck three as 
Julia went by. 

Theresa’s outcries were now distinctly audible, 
and they had the unpleasant sound of those made 
by a spoiled child who cannot carry his point. 
Julia’s way led her through the nursery. In the 
glimmering light of the night-lamp she saw the 
curly head of the lovely boy resting sweetly on its 
pillow, and the empty bed of his nurse. The door 
to Theresa’s sleeping-room was ajar, and the voice 
of the old woman was just now heard to say : 

“Do, madam, compose yourself, and drink this 
glass of water! What is the good of so much cry- 
ing ? You will only make yourself sick.” 

Julia entered without further ceremony. 

“ What is the matter with yon, Theresa ?” said 
she, stepping to the bedside of the young woman, 
who appeared dissolved in tears, and wrung her 
hands like one in despair. 

“ Thank God, Miss Julia, that you are come !” 
now growled the old woman, setting the eau sucrte 
upon a candlestand, and vanishing into her nursery. 

Theresa had started up and then stared at Julia. 

“ I heard you crying downstairs,” said she. 
“ What is the matter with you ? Are you sick?” 

“ No ; but I shall be so, after this treatment !” 
gasped Theresa, tugging at the lace with which the 
blue bedspread was trimmed. 

“ Who has treated you so badly ?” 

“Who? Absurd! Why, Fritz, of course? If 
one is not satisfied with things just as they are, then 


292 


Miss Mischief. 


one is called untutored, childish ! And all 1 said 
was just this : Why did he have to be eternally 
writing — He came up here again a half-hour ago. 
And, the — ” again she began to sob — “ one thing 
led to another, and, at last, I just told him — ” 

The young wife hushed, and a bold, defiant 
expression appeared upon her face. 

“ You told him,” said Julia, very deliberately, 
“ that it would be best for you to part from him, 
and marry Lieutenant Adami ?” 

Theresa looked at Julia, as though some horrible 
specter stood before her couch. 

“ What do you mean by that ?” she stammered. 

“ Nothing more than you know has been settled 
since this afternoon, and to effect which you have 
been working for weeks past. But I must tell you 
that you are behaving in a contemptible manner, 
when you try, by such wretched devices, to force 
the husband who loves you with his whole soul to 
consent to a separation. It is cruel ! It is senseless ! 
Have you not courage enough to say to him quietly 
what you have to say ? It seems that you have had 
courage enough to talk over everything with Fred !” 

Theresa had fallen back as though half-fainting. 

“ Who has betrayed that to you ?” 

“ Accident, and Fred confirmed it.” 

All now was quiet in that room. Julia’s eyes 
strayed through the comfortable apartment ; then 
she again fastened her gaze upon the woman, who 
lay motionless there, looking up at her with wild, 
staring eyes. 

“Will you listen to me?” asked Julia, without 


A Seed of Bitterness takes root. 293 


leaving her station at the foot of the bed. “ I would 
like to ask you, Theresa — ” 

“ Spare your reproaches,” interposed Theresa, 
passionately. “ I cannot help loving Fred. You 
do not understand — ” 

“ 1 do not understand it ; no. That is to say, 
I once understood how you could love Fred — ” 

“ None of you were willing for me to marry him,” 
murmured she. 

“ That is not true, 5 ' answered Julia. 

“ Not true? My father even threatened me with 
disinheritance, and you — you refused to help me.” 

“ Honorable, steadfast attachment would have 
compelled your father — ” 

“ Ridiculous ! It is well for you to talk ; but 
young as I then was — ” 

“ That is no excuse for your conduct. And, at all 
events, you have taken Fritz, Theresa, and will hold 
him, too.” 

“ No ! I cannot. I no longer love him. Leave 
me, pray. You never did have any feeling for me! 
Go, I tell you, go 1 ” 

“ Not before you promise me to write to Fred and 
tell him to go hence forthwith.” 

“ No ! No!” 

“ But can you draw a single easy breath in 
the doubtful position in which you find yourself ?” 
cried Julia, quite beside herself. “ Either write now 
to Fred and end this folly forever, or tell Fritz every- 
thing to-morrow morning, openly and truthfully.” 

“ Never ! I am afraid !” gasped Theresa, 

“ Then I’ll go to your father,” 


294 


Miss Mischief. 


“ That you will not do ! What concern have you 
in the matter? What right have you to act as my 
censor — you, who are not a whit better yourself?” 

“ I ?” 

“ Yes, you ! Or think you that I do not know 
how passionately devoted to Fritz you are? Can 
you say that you have never envied me?” 

A deadly pallor spread over Julia’s face. 

Again a pause. From the adjoining room came 
the whimpering sound of the little boy’s voice. 

“ Theresa,” said Julia; and, rushing forward, she 
knelt down by the bed. “ Listen ! Pray do ! Have 
you not thought of your child, your child whom 
both of you love ?” 

Hereupon the young woman made a gesture of 
impatience. 

“ Oh, I wish it had never been born !” she 
shrieked. 

“ You are committing a sin, Theresa !” 

“ It may be ; it may be, too, that I am bad ; but I 
cannot, do not want to be different !” 

“ And your old father ?” 

“My father?” And Theresa laughed scornfully. 
“ He is more in love with your brother than I am. 
Have you not observed that?” 

“Yes, he is fond of him ; but if he knew that he 
was dispensing hospitality to a deceiver — ” 

“‘A deceiver?’ We deceive nobody! If Fritz 
had not been so abominably self-conceited, he would 
have been obliged to notice that I no longer love 
him.” 


A Seed of Bitterness takes root. 295 


“ It is useless to dispute. Once more, Theresa, 
will you write and advise Fred to leave ?” 

“ No, not a word. And, moreover, as a man of honor, 
he would not go. Do you believe that he would 
leave me alone in such a plight as this? The peti- 
tion would be in vain. But be content. I shall return 
to my father’s house, and all will be peacefully 
arranged. Only torment me no more just now. 
As for the rest,” added she, “ the matter must soon 
be decided ; so that it can be determined whether 
Fred will continue to be a soldier or go with me on 
a trip as soon as — ” 

“ Then I shall go once more and appeal to Fred 
as soon as it is day!” exclaimed Julia. “Surely, 
there will remain in him one spark of consideration 
and regard for the family whose hospitality he 
enjoys.” 

Theresa shrugged her shoulders and threw her- 
self back upon the pillow. At the door Julia 
lingered, and once more gave a look at the blinded 
woman ; but she held her tear-swollen eyes fast 
shut, and her hands lay doubled up upon the bed- 
spread. Then, without another word, the disap- 
pointed mediator closed the door. 

“ Oh, you poor darling!” whispered the girl, as 
she leaned over the bady’s crib, a sob coming from 
the faithful old nurse. 

“Ah, Miss Julia, if one will throw away her 
own happiness so wantonly ! You would not 
believe what the master has had to stand all this 
time, and what an angel of patience he has been 
toward his wife !” 


296 


Miss Mischief. 


“She is sick, Doris,” said Julia. “ It will be dif- 
ferent after awhile.” 

“Yes, yes; if she carries her point; not other- 
wise.” 

Julia went down into her own room, but she knew 
not what to do. Sleep ? Her nerves were over- 
strained ; she could not rest. She began to make 
her toilet. The cool water was grateful to her 
glowing cheeks, that still burned from her interview 
with Theresa. 

How horrible was this world ! In what could 
one still believe, if no more in the good faith of a 
wife, in the love of a mother ? 

She had stepped to the window and looked out 
upon the garden, shrouded as it was in mist. Noth- 
ing of the river and the island was to be seen, only 
a bluish sea of fog that hid everything from view. 

What could this day bring forth ? Its events 
were vailed as yet. But ere night closes again, 
who knows how changed everything here will be ! 



CHAPTER XXIV. 

WHICH WAS THE GREATER GRIEF? 

In his study by the expiring lamp, the yellowish 
red rays of which mingled with the pale light of 
dawn, sat the doctor, pen in hand, a pamphlet lying 
before him, in which he had been writing. 

He thought of something quite different from the 
scientific question, upon which he had just been 
writing, and which he wanted to discuss at the next 
medical congress. What had come over Theresa — 
this was no longer mere whimsicality and caprice, 
it was a graver nervous malady, and speedy relief 
was necessary. What had become of his supreme 
blessedness? Those delightful hours up in his little 
boudoir, the exuberant gaiety of mother and child, 
with the contemplation of which he could never be 
satisfied. He pondered over the matter. When 
had he observed the first signs of her altered mood? 

And then there loomed up before his mind’s eye 
a pale, beautiful face, a pair of dark, flashing eyes — 
Julia. He indignantly shook his head and snatched 
up his pen, a mixture of contempt and regret over- 
coming him. 


[297] 


298 


Miss Mischief. 


What was to become of her ? 

She ought to stay here. 

But one knows not of what sort her relatives are 
— who is to shield her from evil ? That paralysed 
old aunt? She who had been a mother to the girl, 
but a far too strict one. 

Yes, this comes of it — she has been treated no 
better than a servant-girl ; she has never been 
allowed to indulge in the ordinary pleasures of girls 
of her age ; now, Nature is having her revenge. 
And yet — it cannot possibly be? Her looks cannot 
thus deceive ! 

“ Ah ! what trouble one does have with woman- 
kind !” said he aloud, as though he were trying to 
rid himself of his sad thoughts by jesting, “ here is 
one sick, the other — worse !” 

And he arose from his seat with the leaden limbs 
of a man who has spent the night in a chair, instead 
of resting upon his bed, gathered his papers 
together, and prepared to go upstairs. 

In the hall stood his mother with clouded brow, 
her gray morning-gown carelessly buttoned, her cap, 
with the lilac riband, awry upon her rather dis- 
hevelled hair. 

“ I can tell you, Fritz, it is high time that you were 
speaking with Julia’s guardian, and if you do not, I 
shall have to go away myself. Early this morning, 
when the servants got up, they found the house-door 
opening on the garden unlocked and Miss Julia’s 
room empty. If you hold her fast of an evening, 
then she runs away in the morning — for heaven’s 
sake, who would have thought it.” 


Which was the Greater Grief ’. 299 


He looked at her in sorrowful surprise. Then he 
caught sight of the unlucky kerchief of yesterday, 
crumpled up in his mother’s hand. 

She noticed his questioning glance. “ I have just 
picked it up from where it lay on the stair-step,” 
continued she, indignantly. “ That is the way Julia 
treats things. If it had been her own kerchief, 
it would have been a different thing, but Theresa 
lent it to her out of pity and good will, and — ” 

“ Does that kerchief belong to Theresa ?” he asked. 

“ Yes, indeed !” answered Theresa’s maid from 
above, and coming down-stairs, that robust Abigail 
stretched out her hand for the kerchief. “ My lady 
missed it yesterday evening, and said I was to look 
for it.” 

“ What, that kerchief belongs to my wife !” 

“Yes, doctor. Miss Julia only wore it once, the 
evening the Lieutenant gave his lecture at ‘ Die 
Traubei The next day she returned it, and now — ” 

“ When did my wife lose this kerchief ?” The 
man’s voice sounded so utterly disconsolate that his 
mother looked at him in amazement. 

“ I do not know,” replied the maid ; “ but I think 
my lady threw it around her yesterday evening, 
when she went into the garden.” 

“ Very well. I ’ll give it back to her myself.” 

He took it and made a few steps toward the 
stairs, then turned around again irresolutely, but 
finally mounted them. It seemed to his mother as 
if he stumbled, and she saw how he caught at the 
banister for support. 

Theresa was still in bed, her room smelling of eau 


300 


Miss Mischief. 


de Cologne and ether. With heavy steps Fritz 
entered, walked to the window and pulled apart the 
curtains, so that daylight streamed in. And now he 
turned to his young wife, and his hand held out to 
her the kerchief, but how that hand trembled ! 

“ Is this your kerchief, Theresa ?” 

“ Why do you ask?” inquired she. “ Why?” 

“ Is this your kerchief, Theresa ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And since when have you missed it ?” 

She shrugged her shoulders. “ Since yesterday, 
I believe,” answered she, indifferently. Then the 
pupils of her eyes dilated with horror. “ For 
heaven’s sake, Fritz !” she gasped. She saw the 
same look upon his face that had once before electri- 
fied her with horror. 

“ Consider,” said he. “ Presently, you will have to 
tell me exactly where you left this kerchief. I ’ll 
come again when I — have become calmer.” 

And flinging the kerchief upon a table, he left the 
room. Down in the hall he found his hat and cane, 
and then he passed through the streets until he came 
to the country road. To the right there was a path 
through the fields, edged by fruit-trees, bare of 
leaves, and into this he turned aside. As he pro- 
ceeded, he pulled off his hat and let the February 
wind blow upon his brow — moving on — ever on. 
And before his eyes there fluttered a white kerchief, 
embroidered with gold, before his eyes stood the 
spot, where he had found it-^-that dusky little room, 
with its old-fashioned sofa, as far as possible 
secluded from observation, evidently sought for its 


Which was the Greater Grief, 


301 


privacy. And there, over the back, the kerchief had 
hung. And now memories came, forging link by 
link a chain of horrors. 

Had he been blind and deaf. Alt, all came back 
to him. He had once gone hurriedly into the 
dining-room, and Fred — with the greatest possible 
coolness — had risen from his knees, saying that he 
could not find the spool of thread. Yes, yes. Fred 
—Fred ! 

The doctor had run forward like a madman ; he 
suddenly stood at the entrance of a small village, 
where he had a very ill patient. Let him get work 
and perish ! 

Again he turned around. A child was running 
after him, a little fellow with fair hair and blue eyes. 
“ Doctor, please come in and see mother,” implored 
he, seizing hold of his coat. And the man gazed 
upon the child, and followed him into the cottage, 
where he lived. He could but think of his own 
bov. 

When he came out again he struck into the 
shortest path home. Child! Yes, indeed, that poor 
child ! And the tears came into his eyes. 

In the shortest space of time, he again found him- 
self in town, and had he not been so engrossed with 
his own thoughts, he must have observed that the 
people stared at him, and the occupants of the 
village houses noisily threw open the windows 
behind him, the women stretching their necks to 
look after him. An elderly man came out of a 
fisherman’s hut on the Rhine. He was dripping 
with moisture, and his head was uncovered. When 


302 


Miss Mischief. 


he caught sight of the doctor, at first he stood still, 
with an air of embarrassment, then came nearer. 

“ Doctor,” said he falteringly. “ I believe they 
are waiting for you at home.” 

“ For me ? At home ?” 

“ Yes, sir. They have been everywhere, looking 
for you, because — but don’t be frightened ! I think 
one of your family is sick.” 

The doctor mechanically clutched at his hat and 
hurried homewards, agonizing apprehension filling 
his heart. Then he overheard an old women saying : 
“ I would not like to be the one to give him the 
news.” 

What had happened ! Had Theresa — ? 

In a few seconds he had reached his own house. 
Whither turn ? From the back door wet tracks led, 
over the steps, to the upper story. Up there then — 

Upon the stair-landing stood his father-in-law. 

The old man convulsively grasped the arm of the 
desperate man rushing forward to learn the extent 
of the calamity that had befallen the household. 
Mr. Krautner evidently wanted to speak, but could 
not ; the tears rolled down his checks. “ In the 
parlor,” he finally ejaculated, and beckoned with his 
hand. “ Enter not into judgment with her too 
hardly. She has been fearfully punished.” 

They had set the crib in the middle of the apart- 
ment, which was so richly furnished and decorated 
in blue, and by it stood a table covered with pillows 
and cloths. Suddenly the man tottered, and groan- 
ing, supported himself upon the crib-railing. 


Which was the Greater Grief? 303 


“ Is it thou?” he shrieked, hugging the stiff little 
body in his arms, “ thou — must it be thou?” 

On the other side of the bed, her hands buried in 
her loosened hair, lay the form of a trembling, 
sobbing woman. “ Fritz, forgive, forgive !” 

He did not see her ; still he clasped the boy in his 
arms, with pale face, seeking after some sign of 
life. In vain ! That little heart had forever ceased 
to beat! 

Silently he restored the dead to its couch, took a 
cloth from the table and reverentially lay it over 
the still, cold form, and left the room. 

Behind him a solemn silence prevailed. 

Downstairs he shut himself up in his study, and 
then, with a hollow groan, threw himself on the 
sofa. For hours he thus lay, without stirring, with- 
out thinking, without even asking himself how that 
horrible thing could have happened. They knocked 
at the door — he gave no answer. 

Finally, late in the evening, his mother came and 
called with trembling voice: “ Fritz, Fritz — come 
to Julia ; she needs your help !” 

The old lady fairly shrank away when her son 
opened the door, and she beheld his distorted coun- 
tenance. “Fritz,” sobbed she, “Fritz, be a man, 
think of your old mother !” 

“What is the matter with Julia?” asked he, 
hardly. 

“ Why, bless me, don’t you know, that she tried 
to save our blessed, blessed darling, and came near 
being drowned herself? A while ago her senses 


304 


Miss Mischief. 


returned to her, but now she is again lying in a 
dead faint.” 

He drew his hand across his forehead, then went 
to the girl’s small room. 

The old lady closed the door behind him, and he 
advanced to the bed alone. On the bureau, behind 
the lamp-shade, flickered a wax-taper that shone 
upon the girl’s pale face which rested upon the pil- 
low with an expression that was unearthly in its 
rigidity. 

“Julia,” said he, softly. 

Then she opened her eyes and recognized him. 

“Fritz!” And she held out her hand to him. 
“Fritz, I would so gladly have died in his stead !” 
And years of suffering found expression in the burst 
of sorrow that now followed. 

He could not speak, but he stooped over and drew 
her hand to his lips. 

* * * * * * 

“ Well, you see, Fritz,” said his mother, a half- 
hour later, after old Doris had laid “ her boy ” in 
his little casket, “you see, Fritz, she had the child 
by the hand, 1 met her on the stair-steps and asked : 
‘ Theresa, are you going to take tjiat child out in 
this wind ?’ 

“ ‘ Only to papa,’ she answered me. And then 1 
comforted myself and went into the kitchen, not 
without seeing, though, that she ran along the way 
between the houses so fast, that the little fellow 
could hardly keep up with her. And then once 
more I saw his red cap looking so bright behind the 
shrubbery, but thought no more about it. Ail of a 


Which was the Greater Grief? 


sudden I heard Julia shriek, and saw her dart along 
the path, when I started after her as fast as my old 
limbs would carry me, and lo ! there was the boy’s 
little red head floating on the water and Julia 
lying stretched out near it, and men coming in in a 
boat. Then Julia vanished entirely from view, but 
came up bringingthe child with her; but when they 
took him from her, she disappeared again, and then 
once more rose to the surface, and missed the pole 
that she should have caught hold of, and the old 
fisherman said it looked as if she did not want to be 
saved at all, and they brought her in more dead 
than alive. And we had Uncle Doctor and his new 
assistant called in directly, but you were not to 
be found. Indeed, there was nothing that could be 
done to save our little angel.” 

“Will you not go up to Theresa?” she then 
asked. “ God knows that she is to blame for it ; for 
she had entirely forgotten that she had taken the 
boy with her, and there was the little thing paddling 
alone on the Rhine. But think how much she needs 
a little consolation.” 

“ Never mind, mother,” said he. “ She needs no 
consolation from me.” 

Then she put a black shawl over her dress and 
went up herself to her daughter-in-law. But as she 
passed through one room after another, all were 
empty — awfully empty and silent. 

“ Where is your lady ?” asked she, finally, putting 
her head into the kitchen, where the maids sat idle, 
with awe-stricken faces. 


3 ° 6 


Miss Mischief. 


“ Over yonder, at her father’s,” answered the 
cook. 

The old woman would not give up, but followed 
her over there. Theresa was in the chamber which 
had been hers when she was a girl. She did not 
want to see anyone, but Mr. Krautner had her kindly 
invited in. 

The two looked into each other’s eyes, with hor- 
ror depicted upon their countenances. 

“ Heaven help us ! Is not one misfortune enough 
at a time ?” asked Mrs. Roettger. 

The old gentleman turned around abruptly, and, 
since he could not speak, he began to whistle. At 
last he again faced his visitor. 

“ That time when my Hannah died, neighbor. I 
thought nothing could be worse. To-day 1 know 
that it was a little pain, compared to that which now 
rends my heart. It strikes her too. My daughter 
— God knows how such a thing can be — came to me 
this morning and told me that she wanted to be 
separated from Fritz. Usually I could have scolded 
and quarrelled, but to-day, it seemed that I could 
not utter a syllable. And when she went on to say 
that she loved Frederick Adami, and wanted to 
marry him after the divorce, I just had nothing to 
say at all ; only inwardly I accused myself and called 
myself an ass, who had supposed that I could man- 
age everything, not reflecting that no human heart 
is to be fathomed, not even that of one’s own flesh 
and blood. And when at last I put the question to 
her: ‘ How about your child, Theresa?’ It was just 
when the boy was being fished out of the water.” 


Which Was the Greater Grief? 307 


Speechless, the old lady had dropped into a chair. 
“ Oh, my boy ! My poor boy !” then came slowly 
from her lips. And the old gentleman pressed his 
hand and silently nodded his gray head. At last he 
said : 

“ I cannot help it. I tried to bring her up hon- 
estly, and was so happy when she got that fine hus- 
band. If it could do any good, how gladly would I 
sacrifice my life ! But, neighbor, as my Hannah 
used to say : ‘ There is One above who controls the 
destiny of us mortals.’ Be still, neighbor ! Be 
still!” 



CHAPTER XXV. 

TOGETHER, BUT FAR APART. 

At the funeral, Theresa once more appeared in 
her husband’s house. She wore a long crape vail 
that completely hid her face. She was accompanied 
by her father, who had suddenly been changed into 
an old, old man, his figure usually so erect, was 
bent, and his gait unsteady. He sought out the 
remotest corner of the entrance-hall, where the ser- 
vices were to take place. 

Everybody knew, everybody was pronouncing 
judgment— his honorable name seemed to himself 
to be dragged into the mire. 

“ If the boy could have lived,” he murmured, 
“ she might yet have repented, and he would have 
forgiven her. But this way — ” And he shyly 
glanced over at the little casket, that was hardly to 
be seen for flowers, and on both sides of which 
stood the mourners — he here and she there — their 
dead happiness between them ! 

Old Minna, with pale, set countenance, had placed 
herself by her daughter-in-law’s side. She wanted 
to force upon the people the conviction that all the 
[308] 


Together , but far apart . 


309 


gossip they had heard was idle — that the talk of a 
great scandal such as Andersheim had never chron- 
icled in the memory of man — was a fable. If she 
stood by the young wife, nobody could believe it, 
certainly not. 

The preacher spoke of a common grief, binding 
hearts more closely than any other of life’s happen- 
ings — it sounded like mockery. 

Not a muscle of the doctor’s pale face quivered. 
All had been taken from him, faith in God and man, 
confidence and — the joy of his life ! 

The preacher closed his discourse ; the casket was 
borne forth, and the procession of mourners formed 
into line. 

Fritz stepped up to the weeping old man. 

“ Come, grandpapa !” said he, “ let us go to- 
gether.” 



CHAPTER XXVI. 

TEMPEST-TOSSED ON ROUGH SEAS. 

Then, for a while, all was quiet in the front-hall; 
only Theresa still stood there, motionless, before the 
black stand that had borne the casket, and at her 
side Minna. 

“ Come with me into my room,” said the old 
woman. 

And Theresa followed her ; she seemed on the 
point of fainting. 

When she got into the room, she seated herself 
on the broad window-bench, and leaned her head 
against the sewing-machine, eagerly drinking off the 
glass of wine that the old lady offered her. Thus 
she sat mutely, until the doctor came back. 

His mother went to meet him in the hall. 

“ Fritz, she is in there still. Will you not be 
reconciled to each other?” 

He looked the old lady up and down. 

“ No !” was his brief answer, and he walked 
staight into his own room. 

His mother went back to Theresa. 

“ Fritz is there. Will you not go over to him ?” 
[310] 


Tempest-tossed on rough Seas. 




Theresa got up. 

“ You are the guilty party ; do not forget that, 
when you are in his presence.” 

But Theresa made no answer. She held her vail 
together under her chin and went out. 

Minna listened, but did not hear the opening or 
shutting of any door. And when she put her head 
out, it was just in time to see the black-cloth train 
of Theresa’s deep mourning suit sweep over the 
threshold of the front door. Her daughter-in-law 
had gone without making an attempt at reconcili- 
ation. 

Full of despair, the old woman ran across to her 
son. He sat in one corner of the sofa, his head 
propped upon his left hand, and looked up at her 
abstractedly. 

“ You should have made the advance, anyhow,” 
she sobbed. “ You know she is a spoiled child. 
Now she is gone, and you will never be reconciled.” 

Indignantly he shook his head. 

“ Do not speak of it,” said he ; “ let me alone.” 

“ Ah, you have certainly been right harsh with 
her. She has done nothing positively wrong. Fred 
had just been her sweetheart once. She would 
most assuredly have come to her senses.” 

“ Do pray leave me !” he groaned. 

Then she went away, shedding tears. She had 
meant well with her talk. 

In the ante-chamber stood Louise, with a letter. 

“ For the doctor,” she said. 

His mother turned around once more and handed 
him the missive. 


3 T 2 


Miss Mischief 


Fritz broke the seal after the old lady had left. 
It was a communication from Lieutenant Adami. 
He was at his disposal, and awaited his reply. He 
shrugged his shoulders and laughed peculiarly. 
Then he was again lost in thought. 

Honor required that he should meet the spoiler 
of his happiness. Well, he would not be found miss- 
ing ; society must have its regulations. But it was 
absolutely indifferent to him whether the man who 
had been his enemy from early childhood lived or 
died; also, whether he shared this life with her who 
had deserted him or not. What was all this to him ? 
There no longer stirred within him an iota of the 
passionate longing to chastise him who had robbed 
him of his wife, that had yesterday ravaged his soul. 
From the moment when clods of earth had rolled 
upon that little coffin, all sensation had been cold 
and dead, save consuming grief for the loss of his 
darling boy. Existence stretched before his eyes 
like a bare field of snow in twilight, and upon this he 
was to wander, was to wander alone , without end, 
without aim — Horrible ! 

He gasped like an animal that has received his 
death-stroke, and upon hearing the front-door bell 
ring, he bolted his own door. What cared he for 
the people who desired his help ? Nobody helped 
him. Let them knock and knock ! 

And, finally, the day drew to a close ; twilight 
gradually filled the corners of the room, but still he 
continued to sit there. Suddenly he started up — 
he had so distinctly heard a sweet little voice call : 
“ Papa l” 


Tempest-tossed on rough Seas. 


3i3 


Ah, that empty illusion ! That dear little mouth 
was hushed for evermore ! There was no longer 
the pattering of tiny feet overhead, no merry peals 
of laughter, no singing of baby-songs ! Yes, the 
scene of his wedded bliss upstairs, of mutual har- 
mony and love, was empty now and desolate; only 
a bitter taste was left after all that sweetness! 

Oh, that there was something left in the world 
to which he might still cling ! But what had 
he left? Even his mother was angry with him 
because he would not “ call crooked straight ” 
in order to drag on a life of misery to save appear- 
ances. 

Then something stirred at the door ; then there 
was a timid knock, and a faint but infinitely sweet 
voice said : 

“ Fritz, will you not come to supper? It would 
be well if you could eat something.” 

“ Julia!” he murmured; and, rising-, he opened 
the door. 



CHAPTER XXVII. 

AT LAST. 

Three years have elapsed ; three strangely quiet 
years. In the upstairs of that old house the shutters 
are closed, and the sunbeams that look through the 
crevices see empty rooms. Mold covers the pol- 
ished floors, and the window-panes are thick with 
dust. The garden has become more shady, for the 
shrubbery on the Rhine and the grape-vines are not 
allowed to be trimmed. Doctor Roettger cannot 
bear the sight of the river, and has never again 
entered the garden. Where formerly there had 
been that door of communication between the two 
estates, a peach-tree now spread its arms, expalier- 
fashion, over the new masonry, and the acacias have 
shot up high that were planted along the wall. 

It is very quiet in that house. Miss Rika had 
been buried the week before ; her rocking-chair 
having been carried into the garret and placed 
beside baby’s first little wicker-carriage, and Julia 
had spread a covering over both. 

[314] 


At Last. 


3i5 


Spring has come again ; it is a delicious, sunny 
May-day. The windows in Aunt Rika’s room are 
wide-open, and Julia stands there sorting letters 
that are to be burned by Aunt Rika’s desire. There 
lies, too, the letter that had arrived a half-hour 
before her death, bearing the postmark : “ Rome.” 

Fred wrote : 

“Dear Aunt: My wife got back a few days 
ago from Germany. She is sorry not to have seen 
you, but circumstanced as we are, it was impossible 
to pay her respects to you. Mr. Krautner has 
departed this life unreconciled to us, and disagree- 
ably surprised us by his will ; he divided the inheri- 
tance between her and his nephew, of whose exist- 
ence even, Theresa had no previous knowledge, 
and yet he was the preferred party. Now, our free, 
glorious life must needs be more contracted. ’Tis 
a blessing that we have no children ! 

“Theresa does not fancy Rome particularly; 
she wants to move somewhere else. We have tried 
nearly all the Italian cities, but are now going to 
Florence ; to Germany she will never return. 

“ It grieves me that the old man proved so unre- 
lenting — to tell the truth, I am beside myself ! 
Gladly would I have brightened the evening of 
your days by assigning you a small annuity, but 
now it is impossible. When Theresa got to Eisenach, 
after travelling day and night, she found her coheir 
already ensconced in the villa which the old gentle- 
man had built at the foot of the Wartburg. He is 
said to be a handsome young man — a chief forester 


3 l6 


Miss Mischief. 


of mark. The two seem to have come to a toler- 
able understanding. 

“ Otherwise I feel unspeakably well here. It is 
my native air. 

“ God keep you !” 

“Your faithful nephew, Fr. Adami. 

“ P. S. — I looked for my father’s grave, but it 
could no longer be found. You see, I wanted to 
keep my promise.” 

Julia added this to the other letters in the basket 
that stood in waiting. The old lady had been in no 
condition to apprehend its contents when it reached 
Andersheim. It left Julia cold. 

Fred had resigned from the army and married 
Theresa. They had soon learned this piece of news ; 
but, as a general thing, Aunt Rika was chary of tell- 
ing what was in the letters that she only occasionally 
received. She had never recovered from the catas- 
trophe of the drowning, but grew ever weaker and 
weaker; and, finally, her memory became affected, 
and she spoke of Fred as if he were still a boy, and 
lamented that he and Fritz would not be friends. 
But for Julia she had imbibed a touchingly grateful 
love. That calm, beautiful girl knew now that she 
was indispensable to one person in the world ; that 
one person listened for her step and loved the sound 
of her voice ; and unwearied seemed her efforts to 
minister to the sufferer. Before the invalid slept 
her last sleep, her eyes shone with the luster that is 
sometimes a premonition of the soul’s approaching 
departure as she fixed them upon her adopted 


At Last. 


3*7 


daughter, and her lips moved. Julia stooped 
down and caught her meaning : 

“ Thank you ! God reward you for your faith- 
fulness !” 

Holding the hand of the weeping girl clasped in 
her own, Aunt Rika fell asleep. 

Now that, too, was past. Julia was free — free as 
the bird that was just rocking himself on a twig of 
the blooming apple-tree close by, and pouring forth 
a volume of song. Now he spread his wings and 
flew away, into the blue sky, the blooming, laughing 
world. 

She, too, must lift her wings, but it would be a ter- 
rible flight. Here she could not stay. Who want- 
ed her? Aunt Minna over there in her peevish 
unsociability had no need of her. And he ? Ah, he had 
no taste for anything but his books and his patients! 
With the regularity of a clock he went away early, 
came back and held his office-hours, and when done 
with that, the carriage was at the door, and he paid 
visits in the country round about, for he had been 
more sought after than any physician far or near, 
since the death of “ Uncle Doctor,” and was hardly 
able to attend to his practice. Half the night, more- 
over, he was accustomed to sit over his desk. He only 
lived for duty, and seemed no longer conscious of 
the emptiness of the house; measuring the barren 
waste of li is life with steady step and unmoved 
countenance. And yet all the children ran after 
him, and the old ladies, too, called him in, gladly, 
saying that he supplied medicine for the mind as 
well as for the body. Only here his lips seemed 


Miss Mischief. 


3i8 


sealed ; here, where from every corner he was 
greeted by the recollection of vanished joys. 

Julia looked around sorrowfully, ere she again 
locked the old desk and took up the basket in order 
so carry it into the kitchen and commit the letters 
to the flames. 

She must go, she was superfluous here ! 

Towards evening she came into Mrs. Roettger’s 
room. The old lady sat knitting behind her gera- 
nium-pots and looked out upon the quiet yard. A 
little while before she had cut some asparagus for 
supper, and was now resting. She was still active 
as a housekeeper, and would never admit that she 
needed any lightening of her burdens. 

“ After supper I want to go to the cemetery,” 
said she, perceiving the girl’s approach ; “ in case 
that Fritz comes in later, Louisa is to boil him some 
fresh asparagus— as far as that goes, however, l have 
already given her directions. Have you gotten 
through looking over those things ?” 

“ Yes, aunt, entirely through, and I was just want- 
ing to have a talk with you. You see, Aunt Rika 
left me all her little possessions. It was so good of 
her.” 

“ Well, it was simply her duty,” declared Minna, 
dryly. 

“ But,” continued Julia, “ I must ask the favor of 
you, aunt, to allow a little space in the house for the 
dear old furniture, for I cannot take it with me.” 

“ Take it with you ! Where to ?” 

“ Somewhere in the wide world, aunt. What is 
there for me to do here?” 


At Last. 


319 


“ Yes, to be sure, when one rightly considers it, 
there is nothing for you to do here, that is so. 
Well, for aught I care, the things may stay here to 
the end of time. Bless me, there’s room enough in 
this house and to spare.” 

She took the needle that she had just knitted with 
and drew it through her gray hair, and her spectacles 
grew moist, so that she had to wipe them off before 
she could go on knitting. 

“ I did not think once that my old age would be 
so solitary,” murmured she. “ But so it is, and you 
are right. What is there for you to do here ? I am 
still vigorous. Well, 1 wish you good luck. One 
cannot grudge it to you. And once more, as 
to those things, let them stay where they are ; they 
are not in my way ; and should Fritz, some day, 
act again like a rational being, there is still room 
enough up there for new-comers.” 

So saying, she stood up, and reminded Louisa to 
see to the asparagus, for she would have to go soon. 

“ If you are not hungry yet awhile, Julia, you can 
eat with Fritz when he comes.” 

And Julia, nodding assent, went out into the gar- 
den, and there she sat idly, looking with dreamy 
eyes upon the reddish-old sunbeams that fell 
athwart the boughs of the nut-tree and danced upon 
the old garden-table below. 

After a while, Aunt Minna came through the 
middle walk and cut off a few of the roses that were 
just bursting into bloom. 

“ Those were her favorite bushes,” said she, point- 
ing to some wildly luxuriant bushes of the hundred- 


3 20 


Miss Mischief. 


leaved rose. “ I shall take her some of the ear- 
liest.” 

Then she walked forth in the direction of the 
churchyard, and upon suddenly meeting her son at 
the corner of a street, she only said : 

“ I want to visit our graves, Fritz. Eat by your- 
self this evening. Ah, what do you think? Julia 
wants to go out into the world. You see, we can- 
not keep her now, since Rika is dead.” 

He stood there, gazing upon the gloomy-looking 
figure in black, with the rose-buds in her hand, but 
spoke not a word ; he only nodded at her abstract- 
edly and moved on through the animated street, 
where children were noisily playing, and which 
seemed filled with golden dust, under the rays of 
the setting sun. Only a few more sick people were 
to be visited, but instead of sitting patiently by 
their bedsides, as usual, this evening he would 
hardly pause to take a chair, and his features 
expressed unrest and suspense. He knew not him- 
self how it happened that he took the shortest way 
home, through a side-street that led immediately by 
the river. Never had he followed that path since 
that day of horrors, and this evening, like one 
entranced, he gazed upon the blue-green water. The 
waves that had robbed him of his child had long 
since rolled by ; those into which a young being- 
had cast herself, ready to lose her own life to save 
what was more precious to him, could he blame for 
that these others that now rolled by so crystal clear, 
utterly unconscious of the fatal past ? 

Ah! How clear this vision was, to-day ; how 


At Last. 


3 21 


wonderfully clear! There came a steamboat puffing 
and blowing, now it made a wide curve, and lay-to 
sideways at the landing; and up there on the deck 
stood a female form, tall and slender, waving a white 
handkerchief in her hand. Was it in token of fare- 
well? Suddenly the form trembled before his eyes. 
If it should be Julia ? 

He jerked his hat from his head, as he strode 
rapidly on, and his slightly gray hair was grazed by 
the syringa-blossoms, that leaned over the garden 
wall in greater luxuriance than ever before, making 
a bower of the narrow path below. And as he 
started up the steps to his own garden, there lay a 
rose-bud on the crumbling stones — his mother had 
probably dropped it — and he stooped over and 
picked it up. Ah, the perfume of roses! Had he 
been dead, dead all these long years? 

And now his foot was arrested — under the nut- 
tree sat Julia. 

She looked at him with those sweet, dark eyes of 
hers, with the mildness and sisterly patience that 
she had been showing him all these sad years of 
trouble. 

“ Fritz !” There was something like joy in her 
voice. “ You, in the garden ! But is it not a lovely 
evening? Would you not like to take tea out 
here ?” 

He nodded assent, seated himself on the bench 
and, with melancholy eyes, followed her movements 
as she went up the walk with quick, elastic steps. 

How would it be if that step should no more 
be heard in the house ? 


322 


Miss Mischief. 


And suddenly something flew through the air just 
in front of the girl’s feet. She stooped, and held in 
her hand a many-colored trap-ball, and, directly 
afterward, from behind the neighbor’s garden-wall, 
a curly head peeping over with longing eyes. 

“Catch!” cried Julia, throwing back the ball; 
and when the little fellow laughingly accepted the 
challenge, she laughed, too ; and this harmon} T of 
two voices touched the man’s heart, arousing it 
from its long lethargy, so that it swelled with long- 
ing after happiness — such happiness as a man only 
tastes in domestic life. 

He sat there, twirling the rosebud between his 
fingers, and there was a strange working of the fea- 
tures of his countenance. The food that she spread 
before him was hardly touched. 

And then silence fell upon them, for there was a 
hush upon her spirit as well, and she fixed her eyes 
upon the setting sun. 

Suddenly Fritz arose and stood before Julia. 

“ Julia, mother says you are about to leave us?” 

She bowed her head in the affirmative. 

“ Why so, Julia?” 

“ Why? I am so utterly useless here,” answered 
she, smiling as she spoke ; but the tears glistened in 
her eyes. 

“Useless! You?” said he, seizing her hand. 
“ Ah, Julia, with the same reason might the sun 
vanish from the face of the heavens and ask of what 
use it was to the earth.” 

And with deep emotion he bent forward and 
pressed her hand to his eyes ; and upon her spring- 


At Last. 


323 


ing to her feet in bewilderment, he gently drew 
her down by his side and with timid, questioning 
glance looked into her pale face, observing with 
horror the lines that had been drawn there by grief 
and anxiety. 

“Julia, you must not go away. Stay with me — if 
you can forgive the blind, embittered fool. Julia, 
you have done more for me than tongue can tell, 
and I have not once thanked you !” 

“ Be merciful ! Anything but compassion for 
love,” said she in a low tone. 

“Ah !” He gave a short laugh. “Compassion ! 
Which of us two has the greater need of compassion ? 
From you I want charity, compassion, patience— all 
— all ! Do not leave me alone, Julia, unless you 
would see me go to destruction, for you alone, you 
alone, can give back to me faith in truth and love !” 
“ I ?” 

“ Yes, love; you alone.” 

It seemed to her as though she must be dreaming. 
Over yonder the children were shouting at their 
games of ball, and outside the Rhine was rushing 
and the air was sweet with a thousand flowers. 
Spring was here at last — sweet, intoxicating spring ! 

“Miss Mischief! Miss Mischief!” called the 
yellow thrush from the nut-tree. 

Then she smiled. 

“Do you hear that?” she asked softly. “He 
used to call just so when we were young.” 

“ Do not torture me !” he added, impatiently. “ I 
know positively this minute that I cannot live with- 
out you, Julia. And you ?” 


3 2 4 


Miss Mischief. 


She silently put her arm around his neck, and 
from her eyes escaped two clear drops that flowed 
over her cheeks. 

Oh, what a useless question ! 

When Mrs. Roettger came home and heard that 
the doctor and Miss Julia had supped in the garden, 
in surprise she directed her steps thither. Sud- 
denly, she paused. Under the nut-tree stood — well, 
she would sooner have expected to see the sky fall 
— stood the morose, embittered recluse, holding 
Miss Mischief in his arms, and he kissed her, both 
seeming to have forgotten that there was any one 
in the world beside themselves. 

She made a short turn to the right-about and 
went back to the house. 

“Yes, yes, miracles and signs happen nowadays,” 
whispered she. 

And, after she got to her room, she stood before 
the glass and took the black ribbons out of her best 
cap, laying it in the bureau-drawer, with her 
accustomed particularity, and just as composedly 
donned her every-day cap and apron. 

“Well,” murmured she, “when you come to 
think, this is the simplest solution. To be sure, I 
should not have hit upon it. Ahem ! And it is 
wondrous strange, too,” she added, “ how some- 
thing can steal into one’s heart without one being 
aware of it. When she told me, to-day, that she 
would have to go away, it gave me a regular shock. 
To think that it should turn out, after all, that Miss 
Mischief is to be my daughter-in-law ! And one 


At Last. 


325 


thing must be admitted : She is good — very good. 
And she loves him and — ” 

“ Mother, here is a daughter for you I” inter- 
rupted at this point the voice of her son. 

And, hand in hand, the doctor and his betrothed 
crossed the threshold. 


THE END. 


A Fine English Novel. 


REUBEN FOREMAN, 

The Village Blacksmith. 

21 Houd. 

BY 

DARLEY DALE, 

Author of 11 Fair Katharine ,” etc ., etc . 

1 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY WARREN B. DAVIS. 

12mo. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. Paper 
Cover, 50 Cents. 


All admirers of Jane Austen’s painstaking and truthful studies 
of English life, replete with fine touches of character, description 
and humor, will read the story of “ The Village Blacksmith” 
with unmixed pleasure. The portraits of the Rev. Ryot-Tempest 
and the widow, Mrs. Jamieson, are so well done that they move 
through the work like living persons. The characters of Reuben 
and his daughter are also exceedingly successful, and the story in 
which they play such important parts is so well kept together and 
worked out, that our interest in them is real and our desire for 
their vindication and happiness is passionate. This novel is very 
ably written and very original in its types of character and in the 
treatment of religious and moral questions and feelings which 
give strength and intensity to such works as “ Robert Elsmere ” 
and “David Grieve.” It is far above the average English novel 
in interest. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
,on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


THE TWO HUSBANDS; 

OR, 

BURIED SECRETS. 

BY 

MRS. HARRIET LEWIS. 

Author of “ Her Double Life,” “ Lady Kildare ,” u Edda's 
Birthright ,” “ Bery Vs Husband ,” etc. 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY F. A. CARTER. 


12mo. 402 Pages. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


This is one of the most interesting of Mrs. Lewis’s novels. It 
opens with the quest for an heiress. Some of the chapter-headings 
are full of suggestiveness, as, for instance : “The Night Before 
the Wedding,” “Husband and Wife,” “Affairs Take a Strange 
Turn,” “A Conflict,” “ Now for Revenge,” “ Explanations,” etc. 
There is a plot and strong situations, and abundance of incident 
and movement in the story. Mrs. Lewis never failed to write a 
novel that would hold the reader from the first to the last chapter 
and satisfy the desire for agreeable excitement. To all who have 
read and admired “Her Double Life” we recommend “The 
Two Husbands.” 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, post- 
paid, on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


BEATRIX ROHAN. 

3 WdDtl. 


BY 

MRS. HARRIET LEWIS, 

Author of “ The Two Husbands f “ Her Double Life ,” “ Lady 
Kildare f “ Edith Trevor's Secret f “ Old Life's 
Shadows “ The Haunted Husband etc . 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY WARREN B. DAVIS. 


12mo. 430 Pages. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


“Beatrix Rohan ; or, Hunted for Her Money ” will interest all 
novel-readers, as it is an interesting story based upon the character 
and vicissitudes of fortune of a beautiful and accomplished girl. 
Although Mrs. Lewis, like Jane Austen, died in her forty-second 
year, she managed in her short life to produce a goodly number 
of the most popular novels of her time. They have never before 
appeared in book form, and the edition which is now being pub- 
lished will afford thousands who read them as serials an oppor- 
tunity to renew their acquaintance with their old-time favorites. 
“ Beatrix Rohan ” is not unworthy of the author of “ Her Double 
Life,” and we recommend it to all the readers of the latter story. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, post- 
paid, on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


A REMARKABLE NOVEL. 


ZINA’S AWAKING 

21 Bowl. 

BY MRS. J. KENT SPENDER, 

Author of “ Till Death Us do Part," ‘ ‘ Gabrielle de Bourdainc," 
“Mr. Nobody ,” etc. 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY WARREN B. DAVIS. 

12mo. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. Paper Cover, 

50 Cents. 


SOME OPINIONS OF THE ENGLISH PRESS: 

Liverpool Mercury. — “ In this noble story, Mrs. Spender takes 
her place in the front rank of living English novelists. Apart 
from the style, which is clear and beautiful, there is throughout 
the whole work a play of such intense sympathy with all that is 
noble in manhood and womanhood, and at the same time such a 
manifestation of self-conscious strength, that the conviction is 
irresistible that in this writer we have an author whose name will 
some day be a household word.” 

London Guardian. — “ Has undoubted merits of its own in the 
way of freshness and originality, and an unusual depth of thought 
and earnestness of purpose.” 

London Spectator. — “ Mrs. Spender is not a mere manufacturer 
of fiction for the libraries ; she is an artist with a fine feeling for 
artistic ends, and a true instinct for the means by which they are 
to be attained.” 

London Standard. — “Mrs. Spender is well apace with the 
thoughts and reflections that bewilder the ‘advanced’ young 
women of our day, and she writes with restraint and perception.” 

Scottish Leader. — “Mrs. Spender can always be relied on to 
make her stories interesting. . . . ‘ Zina’s Awaking ’ is an 

eminently readable novel.” 

Freeman's Journal. — “A literary work of art. . . . Un- 

doubtedly able and well written.” 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


A New Novel by Col. Knox. 


THE SIBERIAN EXILES. 

BY 

COL. THOMAS W. KNOX, 

Author of “ The Boy Travellers,” “ Overland Through Asia,” 
il Decisive Battles Since Waterloo ,” etc. 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY VICTOR PERARD. 

8vo. 355 pagres. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $2.00. 
Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


This is a novel of European and Asiatic Russia of our own 
times. Reading it, one would think that it belonged to the Mid- 
dle Ages, when men and women were remorselessly snatched 
from their homes, sold into slavery, imprisoned, persecuted and 
killed at the caprice of local despots or robber-barons. It tells of 
the exile, without trial, of the head of a family, guiltless of any 
crime or treason, simply upon suspicion. All the exertions of his 
family and friends are powerless to save him from the terrors of 
the Siberian exile and the life of a State prisoner in the mines. 
Colonel Knox is familiar with the scenes and circumstances of the 
people about whom he writes. He has travelled in Siberia, vis- 
ited the mines and prisons, seen the prisoners at work, and he 
gives a vivid picture of their life and sufferings. His novel is one 
of the most interesting and pathetic narratives which has ever 
been written of modern Russia, its government and people. The 
edition in cloth binding is a large, handsome volume, with many 
illustrations. It is also published in the Ledger Library in paper 
covers, with five choice illustrations. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


A New Novel by the Author of “ Seth’s 
Brother’s Wife.” 


THE 

RETURN OF THE O’MAHONY. 

BY 

HAROLD FREDERIC, 

Author of “ Seth's Brother's Wife ,” “ The Lawton Girlf etc • 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY WARREN B. BA VIS. 


12mo. 334 Pages. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.50. 
Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


! Harold Frederic has won a place among the best writers of fic- 
tion by his charming novel, “Seth’s Brother’s Wife.” His new 
novel, “The Return of The O’Mahony,” will increase his reputa- 
tion as a bright and amusing story-teller. This story opens with 
a scene in camp, near the close of the Rebellion, full of life and 
spirit and picturesqueness. The hero is a Yankee dare-devil, a 
private soldier, famed for his courage and eccentricity throughout 
the Union Army. His last adventure, in the company of an Irish 
recruit, leads to his going to Ireland and joining the Fenian 
Brotherhood. The record of his doings and of the connections 
and associations which he makes there is full of astonishing inci- 
dents and disclosures, extremely interesting and often delightfully 
humorous. The book is one which will gratify the jaded palate of 
the satiated novel-reader by its sprightliness and originality. 

, For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
'on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


A Romance of New Orleans in the Olden Time. 


THE 

KING OF HONEY ISLAND. 

BY 

MAURICE THOMPSON, 

Author of “A Tallahassee Girl,” “ The Fighting at Point Rose,” 
“ His Second Campaign ,” etc. 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY H. M. EATON. 

8 vo. 343 pages. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.50. 
Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


“ The King of Honey Island ” is a romance of society in New 
Orleans in the days of creole ascendency, when General Jackson 
won his famous victory behind the cotton-bales and drove the 
British invaders back to their ships. Piracy was not yet extir- 
pated, and smuggling was extensively carried on. The neighbor- 
ing West India islands and the intricate water-ways of the mouth 
of the Mississippi afforded a great field for illegitimate transac- 
tions. The author has made skillful use of the rich materials 
which the time and locality furnish. The rich and luxurious 
homes of the Louisiana planters in the old French city afford a 
striking contrast to the scenery and adventures of the maritime 
outlaws who infested the neighboring waters. The incidents are 
stirring, and the interest of the story never flags. The author is 
one of the most popular writers that the South has produced, and 
in this story he deals with a subject than which no phase of Amer- 
ican life and history affords a more suitable subject for romance. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


“A Masterpiece of Fiction.”— Randschau. 


THE CHILD OF THE PARISH. 


BY 

MARIE VON EBNER-ESCHENBACH. 

Author of “ Beyond Atonements 


TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN BY MARY A. ROBINSON. 


12mo. 336 Pages. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 
Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


The author of this novel stands in the highest rank of living 
woman-writers in Germany. Her works are very popular and 
have earned the highest praise of critical readers. “ The Child 
of the Parish ” is a powerful original story, strong in delineation 
of character, healthy in tone and artistic in local coloring, some- 
what in the style of “ Oliver Twist,” by Charles Dickens, and 
“No Relations,” by Hector Malot. The scene is laid in a Mo- 
ravian village, and both the scenery and the inhabitants are drawn 
with the fidelity of an old Dutch picture. The hero who grows 
up under the worst influences, unjustly treated, despised and trod- 
den under foot by all except the eccentric old schoolmaster, by 
sheer force of character and through love of his sister develops 
into a strong, capable, honorable man. It is seldom that we can 
offer our readers such a treat as is in store for them in this novel. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


A New Novel by Mrs. Southworth. 


“EM. 


11 


BY 

MRS. E. D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH, 

Author of “ The Unloved Wife,” “ Unknown,” “Gloria,” 
“ The Hidden Hand,” etc. 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY F. A. CARTER. 


12mo. 368 Pag-es. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 
Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


“ Em ” is one of Mrs. Southworth’s charming girls. Like Capi- 
tola in “ The Hidden Hand,” every reader of her story loves her. 
This novel is all about “ Em,” her life at home, her lover and her 
extraordinary history. There is a wealth of incident, of emotion, 
of character, of strange adventures, which holds the reader’s at- 
tention steadfast and weaves a charm around the heart. We can- 
not say anything which will better recommend this novel than 
that it is equal to “The Hidden Hand.” 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


A Sequel to “‘Em.* ” 


“EM’S” HUSBAND. 


BY 

MRS. E. D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH, 


Author of “ 1 Em,' " “ The Unloved Wife," “ Unknowii," 
“ Gloria," “ The Hidden Hand," etc. 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY F. A. GARTER. 


12mo. 395 Pag-es. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 
Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


“‘Em’s’ Husband” carries forward the narrative of “ Em’s ” 
life, introducing new and thrilling chapters in her history and 
further developing a most interesting character. Mrs. Southworth 
in her" novels gives the best pictures of old Southern manners and 
hospitality that are to be found in our literature. Her Virginians 
represent the true and perfect specimens of the men and women 
of the times before the War, and they have a charm which no 
other stories of that period possess. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


A CHEAP EDITION. PRICE, 50 CENTS. 


A SON OF OLD HARRY 

21 Jfoael. 

BY 

ALBION W. TOURGEE, 

Author of “A Fool's Frrand,” li Bricks Without Straw,” 

“ Figs and Thistles “ Hot Plowshares,” etc . 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY WARREN B. DA VIS. 

12mo. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.50. Paper Cover, 

50 Cents. 


SOME OPINIONS OF THE PRESS : 

Syracuse Herald. — “A story by Albion W. Tourgee is pretty 
sure to be interesting, and 1 A Son of Old Harry’ is no exception 
to the rule. The title comes from certain family traits which de- 
veloped themselves in the hero, and which are charactered by a 
peculiar birth-mark in the shape of a red spur in the heel.” 

Hartford Courant . — “ * A Son of Old Harry,’ by Albion W. 
Tourgee, is the infelicitous title of one of the most notable of re- 
cent novels. The hero, the son of old Harry Goodwin, a West- 
ern settler, joins the Union Army at the beginning of the War, 
and gains name and fame. The style is terse, clear and often 
eloquent, for the author preserves his enthusiasms, especially in 
scenes descriptive of the War and its tragic events.” 

Public Ledger , Phila. — “ No one can complain of lack of ex- 
citing interest in this novel. It is told with remarkable skill, and 
the plot is wrought out to its climax with a deepening sense of i - 
terest. The book is fully illustrated by Warren B. Davis.” 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


r 


A Thrilling Novel. 



HAUNTED HUSBAND. 


BY 

MRS. HARRIET LEWIS, 

Author of “ Neva's Three Loiters,” “ Her Double Life,” 
‘ Beatrix Rohan,” ‘ ‘ Lady Kildare ,” etc. 

WITH I L L VST It A TIONS BY VICTOR PERARI). 


12mo. 393 Pagres. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 
Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


In “The Haunted Husband” Mrs. Lewis deals with some of 
the most interesting phases of human experience. It is not in the 
power of men or women to escape the consequences of their acts, 
for if those consequences are not always visible and material, it is 
all the more certain that the spirit suffers ; and whether one is 
haunted by visions or by remorse, or the body suffers from pov- 
erty and hunger, the penalties of our acts are equally hard to 
bear. It is Mrs. Lewis’s strong hold upon this primary fact of 
human life that enables her to realize the characters and carry to 
their conclusion the relations, situations and circumstances which 
her story involves. All who have read “Her Double Life” should 
read “The Haunted Husband.” 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


THE CHOICE SERIES 


1— A MAI) RETKOTHAJj. By Laura Jean 
Libbey. Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts. 

2. — HENRY >1. STANLEY. By H. F. Red- 

dall. Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts. 

3. — II Eli. 1)01 IthE LIFE, by Mrs. Har- 

riet Lewis. Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 ets. 

4. — UNKNOWN. By Mrs. Southworlli. 

Cloth, $1.00 : paper, 50 ets 

5. — TIIE GIJNMAKER OF MOSCOW. By 

Cobb, Jr. Cloth, $1.00 ; pa*er, 60 cts. 

6. — MAUI) MOSiTON. By Major A. R. 

Calhouu. Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts. 

7. — THE HIDDEN HAND. By Mrs. 

Southworth. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

8. — SIJNDEliED HEARTS. By Mrs. Har- 

riet Lewis. Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts. 

9 -THE STONE-CUTTER OF LISBON. 
By W. H. Peck. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

10. — LADY KILDARE. By Mrs. Harriet 

Lewis. Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts. 

11. — CRIS ROCK. By Captain Mayue Reid. 

Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts. 

12. — NEAREST AND DEAREST. By Mrs. 

Southworth. Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts. 

13. — THE BAILIFF’S SCHEME. By Mrs. 

Lewis. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

14. — A LEAP IN THE DARK. By Mrs. 

Southworth. Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts. 

15. — THE OLD LIFE'S SHADOWS. By 

Mrs. Lewis. Cloth, $1.00: paper, 50 cts. 
16— TIIE LOST LADY OF LONE. By Mrs. 
Southworth. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

17. — I ONE. By Laura Jean Libbey. Cloth, 

$1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

18. — FOR WOMAN'S LOVE. By Mrs. South- 

worth. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper. 50 cts. 

19. — CESAR 1UROTTEAI . By Houore De 

Balzac. Cloth, $1.00; paror, 50 cts. 

20. THE BARONESS BLANK. By 
Niemann. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

21. — PARTED BY FATE. By Laura Jean 

Libbey. Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts. 

22. — THE FORSAKEN INN. By A. K. 

Green. Cloth, $1.50 ; paper, 50 cts. 

23. — O TT I L I E ASTER’S SILENCE. 

Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts. 

>4.— ED DA'S BIRTHRIGHT. By Mrs. Har- 
riet Lewis. Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts. 
25.-T’IE ALCHEMIST. By Houore De 
Balzac. Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts. 

20.— UN DER OATH. By Jean Kate Ludlum. 
Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

27. — COUSIN PONS. By Houore De Balzac. 

Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

28. — THE UNLOVED WIFE. By Mrs. 

Southworth. Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts. 

29. — LILITH. By Mrs. E. D. E. N. South- 

worth. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

30. — REUNITED. By A Popular Southern 

Author. Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts. 

31. — MRS. HAROLD ST A UK. By Robert 

Grant. Cloth. $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

32. — THE BREACH OF CUSTOM. From 

the German. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

33. — Til E NORTHERN LIGHT. By E. 

Werner. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

34. — BERYL’S HUSBAND. By Mrs. Har- 

riet Lewis. Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts. 

35. — A LOVE MATCH. By Sylvanus 

Cobb, Jr. Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts. 
3G.-A MATTER OF MILLIONS. By A. K. 
Green. Cloth, $1.50; paper, 50 cts. 

37. — EUKENIE KRANDET. By Honore 

De Balzac. Cloth, $1 .00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

38. — THE IMPROVISATORS. Bv Hans 

Andersen. Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts. 

39. — PAOLI. TIIE WARRIOR BISHOP, 

or The Fall of the Christians. By W. 
C. Kitchin. Cloth, $1.00 ;*paper, 50 cts. 

40. — UNDER A CLOUD. By Jean Kate 

Ludlum. Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts. 

41. — WIFE AND WOMAN. From the Ger- 

man. Cloth. $1.00; paper, 50 cts. 

42. — AN INSIGNIFICANT WOMAN. By 

W. Heimburg. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50c. 


43. — THE CAR LETONS. By Robert Grant. 

Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts. BL 

44. -MA DEMOISELLE DESROCHES. B- M 

Andre Theuriet. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, r .<\ 

45. — 'I'll E BEADS OF TASiMEli. By Mrs. 

Barr, (doth, $1.25; paper, 50 cts. 

46— JOHN WINTHROP'S DEFEAT. By 
Jean K. Ludlum. ('loth, $1.00; paper, 50c 

47. — LITTLE HEATHER - BLOSSOM. 

From the German. Cloth, $1 ; paper, 50c. 

48. -GLORIA. By Mrs. E. D. E. N. South- 

worth. Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts. 

49. — DAVID LINDSAY. A Sequel to Gloria. 

By Southworth. Cloth, $1 ; paper, 50c. 

50. — Til E LITTLE COUNTESS. From the 

German. Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts. L 

51. — THE CIIA UTA UOUANS. By John 

Habberton. Cloth, $1.25 ; paper, 50 cis. 

52. — THE TWO HUSBANDS. By Mrs. 

Lewis. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

53. — AIRS. BARR’S SHORT STORIES. 

Cloth, $1 .25 u paper, 50 cts. 

54. — WE PARTED AT THE ALTAR. By 

Laura J. Libbey. Cloth. $1 ; paper, 50c. 

55. — WAS SHE WIFE OR WIDOW * By 

Malcolm Bell. Cloth, $1 .00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

56. — THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. By Hon- 

ore De Balzac. Cloth, $1 .00 ; paper, 50 cts. * j 

57. — FLORA BEL’S LOVER. By I aura J. 

Libbey. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

58. — LIDA CAMPBELL. By Jean Kate - 

Ludlum. Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts. 

59. — EDITH TREVOR’S SECRET. By 

Mrs. Lewis. Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts. 

60. — CECIL ROSSE. By Mrs. Harriet Lewis. 

Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

61. — LOVE IS LORD OF ALL. From the \ 

German. Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts. 

62. — TRUE DAUGHTER OF HART EN- 

STEIN. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

63. — ZINA’S AW'AKING. By Mrs. J. Kent 

Spender. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

64. — MORRIS JULI AN’S WIFE. By Eliza- 

beth Olmis. Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts. 

65. — DEAR ELSIE. From the German. Cloth, 

$1.00; paper, 50 cts. 

66. — THE HUNGARIAN GIRL. From the 

German. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

67. — BEATRIX ROHAN. By Mrs. Harriet 

Lewis. Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts. 

68. — A SGN OF OLD HARRY. By Albion 

W. Tonrgee. Cloth, $1.50 ; paper, 50 cts. 

69. — ROMANCE OF TROUVILLE. By 

Brehat. Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts. 

70. -LTFE OF GENERAL JACKSON. By 

Oliver Dyer. Cloth, $1 .00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

71. — THE RETURN OF THE O’MAHONY. 

By H. Frederic. Cloth, $1.50 ; paper, 50 cts. 

72. — REUBEN FOREMAN, THE VIL- 

LAGE BLACKSMITH. By Darley 
Dale. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

73. — NEVA’S THREE LOVERS. By Mrs. 8 

Lewis. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

74. —“ EM.” By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth. 

Cloth, $1.00 ; pmmr, 50 cts. 

75. — EM’S HUSBAND. By Mrs. E. D. E. N. 

Southworth. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

76. — THE HAUNTED HUSBAND. By 

Mrs. Lewis. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

77. — THE SIBERIAN EXILES. By Col. 

T. W. Knox. Cloth, $2.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

78. — THE SPANISH TREASURE. By 

E. C. Winter. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

79. — KING OF HONEY ISLAND. By M. 

Thompson. Cloth, $1.50; paper, 50 cts. 
80-MATE OF THE “EASTER BELL.” 

By Mrs. Barr. Cloth ; $1.25 ; paper, 50 cts. , 

81. — CHILD OF THE PARISH. By M arie 

von Ebner-Eschenbach. Cth, $1 ; paper, 50c 

82. — MISS MISCHIEF. By W. Heimburg. 

Cloth, $1.50; paper, 50 cts. 

83. — TIIE HONOR OF A HEART. Cloth, 

$1.00; paper, 50 cts. 

84— TRANSGRESSING THE LAW. By 

Capt, Whittaker. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50c. 



t 














. 
































































































































































* 




* 









































































































































4 
































































' * 





































• 










































































I 





























m : ^ JM 


’.j3 y 

' 










- _ 

* . 

^ ‘■14 

■ ' 

nV-. 

- M 

n 

yg 

1 . ' 4^’ 

r — 


~ ■ rj> 

gSg 



J) 'jl 

gSoi 

g!g 


" ■ 

.*:«•' jp^ • Jj'V 






» V«Mi 

10 ;. 




- 







' *• • ■ • * ‘ • * !/«*,# ► f.t™ 1 » At • *]►•,». 4 A j 

. \, • . . * * _* «* « . •• 

;♦ .V* * '» » V * ' V * • ' > » . ' • •' * ii * 

'** * • >. 9 a i u ' 

/>• .* r t • >-• •* ;•# >v ; v- . C ' •*» * • *. * i\* > •: 

.‘V ; u , * • • •». *lr)*'* : *:S 


LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 


□DD127S3fl4b 




. • ■ . ,* u . •'*. 

IwlfiW 

, . . ’ - 1 

• ‘ r ’ ■ ■ ■ '*•: vV. 

: • ‘ -•:>: ••• - ' ► •: 

\ . : ■ .-,>■* ■ • : 

n . .V.V. 

* ; i* -1 ** , • - 4 *■' • i . « ■ : / • • !«;•:» >» . •' r f 1 4 U 'K ,«• ; 

i • ••• \ - » ‘ \ ! »V •. a .. • 


• f t I* _ 


/ 4 ! 


.. V ^ J ^ 

^ v. "1 

* ' 

— - it ^ « 

. » , * ^ .d 


.• 4 ; vO.*;--.,.' \\ , •••■■ ‘ . 1 

• ">**«'*♦* 1 


